By Magic Bound or Love Slaves of Diagon Alley
by twistyguru
Summary: WARNING: M/M SLASH.  AU, futurefic, , non-DH compliant, no spoilers.  5 Years after the War, former Death Eaters are slaves, and all the rage.  Lucius/Oliver, Harry/Draco, Snape/Flint, Hermione!Bashing, Harem-boy!Draco  because I could . T/M for themes.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is NOT the universe of canon, the Deathly Hallows, or THAT epilogue. This is a slightly different universe altogether. WARNING: CONTAINS M/M SLASH—don't like, don't read. I've had most of this story on my hard drive forever, and the blame for it belongs to antarprince, who put the original idea in my head ages ago. This story has Harry/Draco, Lucius/Oliver, Snape/Flint, and a generous dollop of Hermione!Bashing (because I hate her oh so very much). No spoilers. Everything is written except the Epilogue, so expect a rather quick posting schedule.

The subtitle for this fic is '_Love Slaves of Diagon Alley_'. That pretty much sums it up.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, the Royal Family of Great Britain, any part of England or Europe. I'm not making anything from any of them, either. If the Queen is reading this, I'd appreciate a favorable review—I tried to put her in a good light, 'cause I'm something of a fan.

**BY MAGIC BOUND**

_or_

**_Love Slaves of Diagon Alley_**

**Chapter 1**

The shop sat just inside Knockturn Alley, off Diagon, on the left. _*__Potter & Malfoy Investments, Ltd.__* _proclaimed the tasteful bronze plaque to the right of the door. Shuttered windows protected the interior from scrutiny by the passing hoi poi, and the understated elegance of the façade conveyed a sense of stolid prudence, gravitas and competence.

Inside the empty shop, a blazing fire burst into life in the magnificent hearth, almost immediately changing from bright orange to brilliant green. A tall, spare man with a stark, pointed face and cold grey eyes stepped out of the flames, followed immediately by a much younger, slightly smaller man of athletic build. The younger man was wearing very little except a collar and tiny loincloth. Of course, the thin leather straps of his harness and the leash the older man held loosely in one black-gloved hand could also be considered garments, but only by the most charitable of souls.

"Well, I see that, once again, we are the first to arrive." Lucius Malfoy handed his serpent-headed cane to his slave and stripped off his gloves. Muttering a quick charm, he banished the ash and soot from himself and his companion. Nodding to the reception witch, he strode across the room towards his office, not looking to see if he was being followed.

Once in his office, Lucius propped himself on the edge of his desk, waved a hand to darken the windows, activate the hush charm and shut the door, then gestured his boy closer. Cupping the young man's face in his hands, he pulled the almost-naked figure into a deep, rich kiss, claiming the lush mouth and full lips.

Oliver Wood returned the kiss with equal passion, flushing with excitement and feeling his garment shift as his excitement built. He squirmed against Lucius, pressing his body into his master, eager as always for his touch, his caress, his punishment, his love. Oliver's nipples hardened, and his leather harness scraped them as he pressed against Lucius' garments. His arms went around the older man's neck and he moaned into the mouth that covered his, incoherently begging for more of the ecstasy they had shared only a few hours previously.

Certainly the former Keeper for Puddlemere United had never thought to be another man's bond slave, but there could be no denying the genuine enthusiasm that he displayed while kissing the head of House Malfoy. No, of that there could be no doubt, especially as his swollen erection now held his loincloth straight out, leaving nothing to anyone's imagination.

Lucius finally broke the kiss and gently pushed Oliver back just enough to keep the boy's rampant member from touching his clothes. Indulgently, Malfoy chuckled as the smell of Wood's musk wafted up to his nostrils, mews of protest filling his ears.

"Now, now, love, mustn't stain me before the meeting." He smiled gently into the beseeching young eyes. "There will be time for that, and more, later tonight. First, though, we have business at Gringott's, and then I thought I'd take you shopping."

Oliver sighed, rubbing his cheek into the hand that still cupped his face. "Oh, all right…but it's not at all nice to tease me like that. You know that I'll be hard for the rest of the day, don't you?"

"Yes, and that's exactly why I did it, my beautiful one." Malfoy's eyes tightened slightly and his voice dropped into a low purr. "I want everyone to see just how magnificent you are, just to give them all the more reason to envy me." He spun the almost-naked man around and pulled him into an embrace, reaching around his well-muscled torso to caress and hug the buffed body. Hands gliding across the smooth, prominent planes of pectoral muscles, he kissed one ear, licked it lightly and whispered into it.

"So beautiful, so wonderful, so marvelous…and all mine." Lucius dropped his head down to nuzzle the base of his slave's neck.

Wood laid his head back against his lover's shoulder, sighing his pleasure and contentment. His erection waved in front of him, but he knew that Lucius was as good as his word; it would be some time before he was allowed release. He consoled himself with the sure knowledge that, once that release was allowed, it would be a tremendous, shattering experience. His Master was nothing if not an incredible lover.

For several minutes they stayed just like that, enjoying the peaceable closeness of each other. Occasionally Wood would grind his buttocks back on Lucius' obvious erection, which invariably earned him a slap on those very same luscious buttocks and a laughing "bad boy"…which, of course, did absolutely nothing to compel Wood to cease his actions.

The jingling of the bell over the shop's door—faint, but still recognizable through the hush charm—announced someone's arrival. Various putterings and mutterings in the lobby were heard distantly by both men, then Malfoy called out.

"Perkins, is that you?"

A muted crash sounded from the outer office, followed by "Oh, yes…Mr. Malfoy, is that you, sir?" Shuffling footsteps could be heard nearing the darkened windows.

"Yes, Perkins, who else would be using my office at this time of the morning? Don't disturb me, I'm occupied. Lord Potter should be here shortly, make up the fire for him, there's a good man."

"So…you're occupied? Is that what they call this?" Wood whispered, rubbing his entire body back against Malfoy. His Scottish burr caressed Lucius' ears.

Another slap, and "cheeky brat" was Malfoy's only response before he returned to nibbling across Wood's shoulder. Oliver's answer was another grind of his hips, which of course earned him another gentle slap and a bite to his ear.

Shortly, a moderately loud commotion was heard coming from the direction of the fireplace.

"Oh your Lordship, sir, it's you and your, er, escort." Perkin's voice could be heard clearly through the walls.

Malfoy and Wood both sighed then parted, opening up what was considered the proper respectable public distance between them. At the same time, Wood's demeanor shifted dramatically from ardent lover to the downcast look of a well-trained and disciplined slave. He held his leash out for Lucius to take, quickly making a brief adjustment to his loincloth so that it was perfectly centered and arrayed.

Lucius Malfoy also adjusted himself, steeling his face into the mask he wore in public, especially when in the company of his business partner. A brief caress of Oliver's fingers was all he allowed himself, and inwardly he raged at the circumstances which kept him from openly displaying his feelings for his beloved.

Who would have guessed that a scant five years after Voldemort's defeat at the wands of Harry Potter and his allies (especially that most surprisingly resourceful and courageous Longbottom), bond slavery would once again be not only legal but fashionable among the elites of wizarding Britain? Certainly not one Lucius Malfoy, who had been as surprised as any when he was released from Azkaban at the request of that very same Harry Potter. It had taken several weeks, during which he not only recovered from his stint in durance vile but also adjusted to the new world in which he found himself, before he came to understand just what had happened in his absence. Even once he knew as many of the facts as he could discover, it was another several months before he truly began to comprehend the significance of what had happened during the final confrontation between Lord Voldemort and the Boy-Who-Lived.

From what he had been able to ascertain, it had been Hermione Granger's idea initially. Certainly the brightest witch of her age, and well aware of the information revolution sweeping the muggle world, she had single-handedly initiated and supervised a massive sweep of every wizarding library she could find for hexes, spells, charms, any information that would help Potter and the Order against the Dark Lord. What started as a desperate search for information about the identity and location of Voldemort's horcruxes had quickly become much more. Her initial cadre of student/researchers had made short work of Hogwarts' library before branching out, first across the three kingdoms, then to Ireland, France, Spain, Germany, and Italy. They had even started to make inroads into the libraries and magical schools of America and India at the time of the final battles of the war. One of her discoveries, rumored to have come from an ancient cache of scrolls found in Ireland, had contained a curse which drained all magical ability from the victim, transferring most of that ability (and power) to the caster. Along with a few other choice foreign spells which Voldemort had no experience with, Potter had literally sucked the Dark Lord magically dry before finally, permanently destroying him.

Of course, what no one realized was just how much of the curse victim would be transferred to the curse user. The Harry Potter that had come back from that final battle had been a different, darker man than the boy who had gone in. No longer anxious, humble and self-effacing to a fault, the new Potter was cool, calm, self-assured and quite willing—to the point of utter ruthlessness—to use his status as the Man Who Killed Voldemort to advance himself and his favored causes. Oh, he was still Harry Potter, but he was…changed, and had apparently come to terms with his inner Slytherin. In the immediate aftermath of the war, Potter and his friends in the Order had run roughshod over the bureaucracy of the Ministry, conducting (more or less) a purge of those whose actions had been…less than satisfactory, in their opinion. When the dust finally settled, Potter was a member of the Wizengamot, Granger was Head of the new Department of Magical Informatics, and Kingsley Shacklebolt was the Minister for Magic.

Malfoy still remembered the day Potter (newly created The Right Honorable the Earl of Little Whinging Sir Harry Potter, Knight Commander of the Most Ancient and Honorable Order of the Bowl and Sickle, Order of Merlin First Class) had come to him in Azkaban.

"Malfoy, you've got a visitor." The guards, damn them all to muggle hell, had given him no warning at all. He remembered hastily trying to arrange himself before turning to face….

"Harry Potter. Well, I must say, you are the last person I expected to see here."

"Hello, Malfoy. Prison gray suits you, I see."

Lucius had seen no reason to be polite, snapping back "not as well as funeral black would suit you, Potter," almost without thought.

Potter had just smiled. "Odd, I seem to remember that black was your color, Malfoy."

Lucius hadn't acknowledged the hit, only looking back at the younger man calmly. Finally, Potter had broken the stare, and moved straight to the reason for his visit.

"We could stand around here all day trading insults, or we could talk about the terms of your release, Malfoy. Which would you prefer?"

Lucius had initially refused to believe what Potter was saying, then been wary, then suspicious about the motives of whomever had sent Potter to speak with him. Ultimately, he was forced to accept what Potter was saying. Undoubtedly, that Potter himself had come with the offer played a large part in convincing Lucius that it was indeed genuine and legitimate.

Potter had explained to him that a number of Death Eaters were still at large. Some few had survived the final battle, scattering to the four winds. It was also suspected that an unknown number of Voldemort's sympathizers had not been present at the final conflict, either being held back as a reserve or choosing the better part of valor at the last moment. Unfortunately, a large number of wizards who were not Death Eaters had also managed to disappear in the days prior to the war's climax, and it was hoped that they were not dead but merely deep in hiding, biding their time until they felt it was safe to return.

The Ministry's problems were immediately obvious. All a low-level Death Eater had to do was to reappear, claim to have been "in hiding" all along for "safety", and be instantly reintegrated into wizarding society. For those who never reappeared, had they been victims of the Death Eaters, or had they just taken this opportunity to disappear forever? Apparently several who had yet to reappear had taken out rather large loans from Gringotts shortly before they had vanished, and the goblins were…concerned, to say the least. Then there were matters of wills, estates and probates, all of which (so it seemed) had at least six legitimate claimants, each clamoring for some definitive answer from the Ministry.

And then, just to make things even more exciting, it was becoming almost commonplace for someone to be accused of having been a sympathizer, or a collaborator, or a supporter, or whatever term was on the front page of The Daily Prophet this week. Demands for trials were being made, and quite stridently. Of course, with the rampant rumors of the development of multiple ways of removing the Dark Mark without a trace, quite a nice case of hysteria was building in the general wizarding public.

In short, the Ministry wanted a Death Eater of their very own to help sort out the mess. A senior, but tamed and tightly leashed Death Eater to confirm or deny, or at the very least help make sense of some of the more ridiculous claims that were starting to be made.

"And you want me to be the Ministry's own personal Death Eater in residence? I must say, Potter, the offer is more appealing than remaining here in Azkaban, but only just." Lucius had realized that the Ministry's position must be extreme indeed for them to even make such an offer to him, and had determined to wring every last bit of advantage that he could from their difficulties. What he had not counted on, however, was the explicit cooperation of one Harry Potter, the Man Who Killed Voldemort.

"Oh, I think that the Ministry might be convinced to provide you with certain incentives, Malfoy." Potter hadn't so much as batted an eye at Lucius' attempts at negotiation. "I strongly suspect that a case could be made for the return of your confiscated assets, including Malfoy Manor and all of your Gringotts accounts as a condition of your…rehabilitation. Perhaps a partial return initially, with the remainder to follow after a year's appropriate behavior? Of course, I will be watching you myself, Malfoy…."

To his credit, Lucius hadn't fallen out of his chair when Potter went on to suggest that, as a condition of his parole, he provide assistance to Potter himself in managing the considerable wealth of the Black and Potter fortunes, to which Potter was the sole heir. It would present a strong reassuring impression to the general public that Harry Potter himself trusted Lucius Malfoy to manage his own money. And so, an agreement was reached, and Potter and Malfoy, Ltd. was born.

Potter had been as good as his word in that dreary cell that day. He had convinced the Ministry to release the Malfoy fortune with only minimal 'adjustments' to cover damages to those injured in the war. Potter had also wasted no time in moving a significant portion of the Black monies into the Muggle markets with spectacular success. (Lucius had been mildly surprised to learn that the bulk of the Potter Trust was already diversified into Muggle investments under Muggle management, which was the primary reason why the Trust had done so well following James and Lily's death.) Of course, the very name of Potter was a kind of magic to conjure with, and before many months had passed Potter & Malfoy Investments, Ltd. had become the premier wizarding investment house on the island. Naturally, with their great success had come animosity from their competitors as well as libelous accusations of inappropriate usage of magic to influence the markets. However, their ledgers and dealings were all scrupulously correct, and nothing ever came of those vile rumors. Harry was fond of saying that he 'just had a bad feeling, like when old Voldy was about to get snarky' about British cattle futures, causing them to get out of the market mere days before the Mad Cow fiasco hit the news. Oh, how some had howled about that! However, the day the wizarding world tried to prosecute Harry Potter for acting on his 'bad feelings' looked to be a long way off, indeed.

Curiously, none of those doing said howling had been clients of Potter & Malfoy who had acted on their urgent advice to withdraw from the cattle markets.

Malfoy, too, had kept to his part of his agreements with Potter and the Ministry. In return for pardons for himself and his wife (and the return of the bulk of his fortune), he had provided the Ministry with the names of those war dead which he definitely knew had been killed by Death Eaters. He had also compiled a list of those few of Voldemort's followers known to him to have survived the war. Perhaps most helpful was his knowledge of how the Death Eaters organization had operated. This let him, in most cases, quickly sort probable claims of Death Eater association from the frivolous, malicious, petty and vindictive; this alone had saved the Ministry thousands of galleons and countless hours of effort.

It was in the fourth year following the defeat of the Dark Lord that bond slavery returned to wizarding Britain. Azkaban was overflowing with convicted criminals and Death Eaters, and despite the Ministry's best attempts to locate a site for a second prison no progress had been made. No town or city would allow another wizard prison near it, considering the potential for disaster should anyone escape. Malfoy had never been able to discover just who put forth the idea initially, but within weeks it swept the country and firmly established itself in the minds of the average John and Jane Wizard. Why not convert some of Azkaban's many residents into bond slaves? Certainly, with the proper spells and charms, all but the most powerful and dangerous magical criminals could be rendered harmless. And, what more fitting punishment, especially for those Death Eaters who had killed innocents during the recent unpleasantness? By forcing them to be publicly displayed in their humiliation, it was argued that these convicted and enslaved felons would serve as a most potent deterrent to those who might entertain thoughts of following the next Dark Wizard to arise.

Some had argued against the idea, citing the Rights of Englishmen and the ideals of the Enlightenment. However, these voices were quickly drowned out by a public clamoring for further punishments for those who had committed the most horrible acts during the recent war. To borrow a phrase from American history, those in favor of the idea had 'waved the bloody shirt' of Voldemort's reign of terror, and the Wizengamot felt they had little choice but to endorse the concept.

During this debate, both Potter and Malfoy had taken pains to remain absolutely silent on the issue. Malfoy, as a former (now rehabilitated and reformed) Death Eater knew that any position he took would be suspect; Potter, because of his 'well-known reluctance' to influence the political process. As with any controversial position, neutrality prevented them from alienating the vast majority of their clients—clients who, given the hefty fees being discussed, would be among the small percentage of wizards able to afford the new 'personal abettors—correctional chattels' or PACCs, as they were being called. The closest either of them had come to any comment was a brief statement by Potter to the effect that he hoped that stringent standards of protection for the general public would be in place before any of the Azkaban prisoners would be released.

Lucius Malfoy, being neither fool nor Gryffindor, had gone to Greece for a month while the issue was being debated and (ultimately) passed. It had given him a chance to see Narcissa once again—she had moved away from England as soon as propriety allowed—as well as meet her new 'houseboy'…and chauffer…and gardening staff.

Amicable separation or not, it had been a most…interesting…visit, and Lucius actually found himself glad to return to London and the daily pressures there.

And so, bond slavery was introduced to wizarding Great Britain, yet another repercussion of Voldemort's bid for power and immortality. Elaborate, multitudinous and variegated were the safeguards put in place by the Ministry and Wizengamot to protect the prospective owners (and to a much lesser degree, the slaves). Tracking and location charms using both magic and GPS; anti-magic, anti-aggression and obedience charms that fell just short of the Imperious curse were all required. Also established were standards for the care of the bond slaves, including limits on the activities they would be required to perform (few), mandated health inspections (regular), and minimum standards of dress and grooming (_very_ minimum). Early on it came to be assumed (but not spoken of in polite company) that many of these bond slaves would be providing sexual services to their owners. There was some concern about corporal discipline, but as one 'prominent citizen' was anonymously quoted in _The Daily Prophet_, "as long as the bloody gits don't bleed on the streets, I don't much give a fig". After all, it was rationalized, their main function would be to serve as a deterrent to any who would aspire to follow in their footsteps, and no one wanted to be the person who lobbied for decent treatment for Death Eaters.

Hermione Granger, naturally, was a special case; and as usual, was largely ignored by all and sundry.

As an initial trial, twenty convicted Death Eaters serving various sentences in Azkaban were selected, fitted with non-removable collars and brought to London to the Ministry of Magic main building. For practical purposes, the collars had been decided upon as the best way of ensuring that all of the appropriate spells and charms would be in place for each slave. Each collar was manufactured to exacting specifications and Auror-checked and certified to contain all of the necessary magic. Rather than having to perform several complicated spells on each slave, it was only necessary to lock a collar in place. The collar then served not only as a 'control' device but also to monitor the location of each slave. Additionally, medical information including the date of the slave's last examination and any treatments rendered was also permanently stored in the collar. Each collar was thus fairly expensive to produce, but as this price would be added to the initial sale price of each slave it was not felt to be a significant issue.

The day of the first bond slave auction arrived with, predictably, much media fanfare. The auction itself was held in the Ministry's largest auditorium, but many more people than the room's 400 seats would accommodate actually arrived, clamoring for admission. Ultimately, seating was restricted to the members of the Wizengamot, chief Ministry officials, a few hurriedly selected members of the press…and 200-odd wizards and witches willing to immediately place a 5000 galleon bond as earnest money and proof of sincerity. The remainder of the crowd were then allowed seating in several smaller rooms on a first come, first served basis (where they could watch the auction on enchanted screens, similar to muggle television) or simply turned away.

Both Potter and Malfoy were in attendance at that first auction. Harry Potter announced to the press that, as a member of the Wizengamot, he felt it was his duty to observe and to monitor the proceedings. Malfoy, attending in his capacity as Death Eater expert in residence for the Ministry, succeeded in avoiding having to answer any press questions at all.

For the first auction, none of the more notorious Death Eaters had been chosen. Rather, less nefarious and well-known criminals, several of whom had maintained their innocence even after their convictions, were offered. The first two slaves sold—a tubby little witch from Dover and a middle-aged, balding man from the midlands—were quite unremarkable. Each only barely managed to fetch the minimum 2500 galleon bid, much to the disappointment of the auctioneer and the crowd. The third Death Eater offered, however, changed all that. A sultry, raven-haired witch from London stood proudly on the stage as if defying anyone to bid on her. Her price reached a quite respectable 6400 galleons during a spat of furious bidding, much to everyone's delight.

The next slave offered proved to be the most interesting of the lot, at least to the general public. Marcus Flint, formerly of Hogwarts, most recently of Azkaban following his conviction for the multiple uses of Unforgivables. The boy who was once described as looking as if he were part troll had obviously changed dramatically in the years since Hogwarts. His frame, large to begin with, had filled out with an impressive musculature. Lucius, observing from the Ministry seats, also noticed significant changes in the young man's face. No longer brutish, his features appeared strong and rugged. Most noticeable were his teeth, which no longer protruded from his mouth. In fact, Lucius would have been willing to bet a handful of galleons that Flint now had a cosmetically perfect smile, to match the rest of his face. Malfoy also noted that there did not seem to be any evidence of active charms or glamours. Muggle work, then? He mused. Oh well, no matter…Malfoy was scarcely interested in the former Slytherin. He had known of him distantly, both from Draco's years at Hogwarts' and during his stint as a Death Eater. Their closest interaction had probably been when Lucius arranged for Draco's position on the Slytherin Quidditch team. Flint had initially refused outright, but the promise of new racing brooms for the entire team had finally persuaded him as to the true depth of Draco's skill. Lucius snorted in remembered amusement at just how quickly the youngster had come to a new appreciation of Draco's Seeker talents when Lucius had inquired as to whether he preferred Nimbus or Comet brooms. Memory satisfied, he shifted into a less uncomfortable position (who had designed these hellish auditorium chairs?) and continued to observe the auction.

Obviously, persons other than Lucius had noticed Flint's appearance, as the bidding quickly moved past the level of the last offering. Malfoy was careful to note who was bidding and what amounts on young Flint, who looked as if he were moments away from snarling at the audience. Several of the initial bidders were known shirt lifters; three were middle-aged women (one of whom was married to a much older man), and…Severus Snape.

Until he bid, Malfoy hadn't noticed Snape in the audience. He certainly hadn't expected a Professor at Hogwarts to be bidding in this auction, and briefly wondered just how the man thought he could afford a bond slave on an academic's salary. Of course, he hadn't followed Snape's career much since his release from Azkaban. He had felt it better not to associate with any other former followers of Voldemort, no matter which side they ultimately claimed to have been on.

As the bidding continued to climb, Malfoy noted that Snape seemed to become more and more tense. Of course, he hid it well—only Lucius' long history with the man let him recognize it. One by one, the other bidders dropped out until only Snape and one of the women (the married one, Malfoy noted) remained. As the amount climbed towards 10,000 galleons, the audience became more excited. Snape and the women-Malfoy tried to remember her name but could not-matched each other bid for bid. At 10,000 galleons, the women appeared to become flustered, especially as Snape again topped her bid by 100 galleons. To all appearances, Snape was cool, calm and collected, but Malfoy knew by the slight twitch of his eye just how agitated the Potion Master was truly becoming.

It appeared that Snape had taken the bidding at 10,100 galleons. The audience was holding its collective breath as the auctioneer announced the bid going once, going twice….

And then, a voice called out from the Wizengamot section, "Eleven thousand galleons!"

Lucius Malfoy's head was not the only one that whipped around to see who had entered the bidding fray. There in the middle of the Wizengamot, suddenly the focus of the entire auditorium sat…Harry Potter.

Potter was just sitting there, a lazy smile on his face, looking not at Marcus Flint on the stage but at Snape. From his seat Malfoy couldn't see Snape's face, but it was obvious that Snape and Potter were locked eye to eye. Then, as his smile became a smirk, Potter gave a small nod to his former Professor as if to say 'your turn'.

Snape turned back in his seat, the rapidly rising red on his face the only sign of his emotional state.

"Eleven thousand, one hundred galleons" he said in the same voice that had once chastised a young Harry Potter. Now Malfoy could see that the twitching around his eye had become more pronounced. It also appeared that Snape was clenching his jaw as he struggled to maintain his control.

"Twelve thousand," came Potter's immediate reply. The audience gasped, then all eyes turned to Snape.

"Twelve thousand, one hundred galleons," Snape grated.

The auctioneer was beside himself. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a bid of twelve thousand, one hundred galleons. Do I hear another?" He looked expectantly towards Potter's seat. He was not to be disappointed.

"Fifteen thousand galleons," Harry Potter said easily, as the smirk spread across his face.

When Potter upped the bid so much, Snape's control finally snapped. He spun towards his former student, rage written across his face. "You…you…" he sputtered, and then managed to reign himself in sufficiently to give a nod in Potter's direction. "I believe you may have won the auction, Potter," he said. Then, even as the auctioneer called for final bids, Snape rose in a swirl of black robes and made his way towards the exit. He was not quite out the door when the auctioneer announced that Marcus Flint had been "Sold!" to Lord Sir Harry Potter for the sum of fifteen thousand galleons.

Given the pandemonium that broke out with that announcement, it was really quite remarkable that the auction was only delayed for twenty minutes before resuming.

Malfoy leaned back in his seat, thinking furiously. Potter had not mentioned anything to him about desiring a bondservant, nor had he given any hint at all over the past few weeks that he intended to bid in the auction today. Given that their business and personal arrangements gave them reason to not only see each other almost daily but also discuss significant financial moves with the other; this was completely out of character. Then, Lucius had a flash of understanding. Snape! Potter's animosity towards his former Professor was no secret. Quite the opposite, in fact! Nodding to himself, Malfoy was convinced he knew the reason for Potter's actions. Harry Potter, now immensely wealthy, had seen an opportunity to one-up Snape publicly. Even more, he had done it impulsively, almost casually, knowing that it would drive home the point that fifteen thousand galleons was a mere pittance to the Man Who Killed Voldemort. Oh, such sweet revenge for all those detentions, all those old humiliations in Potions class, all those points taken from Gryffindor.

Malfoy snorted in amusement. 10 points to Potter, he thought. Not for the first time, Lucius Malfoy wondered just why in the world the Sorting Hat had not sorted Potter into Slytherin, where he truly belonged.

Lucius Malfoy jerked back from his musings about the past as an angry knocking sounded on his office door.

"Oi! Malfoy! Stop snogging that poor boy and get out here! We're going to be late!"

"Sod off, Potter! I've been here since half-past, waiting on you!" Lucius grinned at Wood, who blushed prettily. Taking a final moment to check that his attire was perfect, he retrieve his cane and stepped to the door. As he passed his slave, he moved his hand just a bit, causing their fingers to brush ever so briefly. Then, his usual haughty countenance in place, he dissolved the privacy charms he had placed on the room, opened the door, and led his slave out of his office.

There in the central waiting room stood his business partner, their chief clerk Perkins, and Potter's bond slave Marcus Flint. Like Wood, Flint was scarcely clad in anything at all. However, there was a subtle yet palpable difference in the way the two men carried themselves. While each maintained the common, respectful eyes-downcast look that was usually insisted upon, Wood carried himself easily and confidently. Wood's leash hung loose between his collar and Malfoy's hand, and he moved with his master with such perfect timing and grace that it never had a chance to tighten. In contrast, Flint seemed almost surly, and moved only with a tug on the constantly taught leash.

Malfoy pressed his lips together into a thin line of disapproval. He could clearly see faint traces of cane and whip scars all across Flint's backside. None looked too recent, but the contrast to Wood's perfect, unmarked skin was quite noticeable. Of course, the scars could have been easily erased with a few applications of Scaradicate Salve and a minor charm or two. That Potter had chosen not to do so with his bond slave sent a clear message to any who cared to look, and Malfoy was not sure that he liked that message.

When Wood gave a slight gasp at Flint's back, Malfoy was certain that he did not care for that message.

Unfortunately, Harry Potter had rather good ears, and turned at Wood's faux pas.

"Malfoy," he sneered, "you might want to have a word or two with your boy about proper decorum."

Lucius met Potter's glare with a single raised eyebrow. "Oh?" He paused, saying nothing else, waiting for Potter to go on.

Grumbling, Harry broke their eye contact and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture as he turned away. "Oh, never mind…not that it would do any good at all, what with the way you spoil him…."

"Harry, do I tell you how to deal with your bond slave?" Lucius' voice was calm, measured, gently inquiring.

Still looking away, Potter shook his head, "No, of course you don't; never mind, forget that I said anything." He straightened abruptly, looking around. "Perkins! Where the devil are…."

"…right here, sir," Perkins seemed to appear from thin air, but there was none of the popping of displaced air that always accompanied apparition.

"Oh, so there you are," Potter grumbled. "Do you have all the papers we'll need for the meeting today?"

"Oh, yes sir," the clerk gushed. He held up a battered leather portfolio. "Everything's right here, sirs, in triplicate."

"Well done, Perkins," Malfoy jumped in before Potter could argue any more. "Well, Potter, Perkins, shall we be off?" Smiling, sounding much more cheery that he actually felt, Malfoy caught Wood's eye and then swept towards the door. He refused to look back, but a brief shuffle of footsteps let him know that Potter was literally dragging Flint behind him.

Despite his robes and his cloak, Malfoy felt a bit of a chill as he stepped outside. Stepping out of the doorway, he pulled his wand and performed a warming charm on Wood before he even felt the cold. Glancing down, he strengthened the spell on Wood's feet that provided as much protection as a pair of steel-toed boots while allowing his slave to appear to be barefoot. He felt more than heard Wood's murmured appreciations as he turned to Flint.

"Hold up a moment, Potter, let me charm Flint against this chill," Malfoy said crisply. He wasted no time in placing the warming charm, and was engaged in the foot protections before Potter could answer.

Harry had stopped in the street when he heard Lucius, and was frowned his distaste as Lucius finished. "I swear, Malfoy, you pamper them too much. They're slaves, man, a little discomfort for them is part of the reason we have them in the first place."

Lucius smoothly put away his wand and, leash dangling loosely from his hand, began strolling towards Gringotts. "I know that there are those who agree with you, Potter, but I don't believe it serves any purpose to take slaves out in this weather without proper protection from the elements."

"'Suppose you're right," Harry continued to grouse, tugging Flint after him. However, his own wand never came out, and he didn't do more than just mutter a bit.

A handful of steps carried the small group to the junction of Knockturn and Diagon Alleys. Almost directly across from them was the impressive front façade of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Stepping into the press of wizards and witches moving up and down Diagon Alley, they crossed to the bank, ascended the stairs and made their way down the long central corridor without incident. Remarkably, no one seemed to recognize them as they pressed through the crowd. Malfoy wondered at this. Had Potter done a bit of wandless charming because he was in no mood to be disturbed?

Before they had quite reached the back of the bank, the five-some was met by an elegant goblin in the black and white attire that was the bank's de facto uniform.

"Lord Potter! Mr. Malfoy! How good of you to come today!" he proclaimed. If he even noticed Perkins or the two nearly naked men with them, he gave no sign. "If you would follow me, gentlemen? Herr Zintiffens asked me to show you to a conference room and see to your needs until he arrives." With a slight bow and wave of his hand, he spun and headed off into the bowls of the bank through a door marked "Authorized Personnel Only…Violators Will Be Eviscerated".

Shortly Lucius and Harry found themselves seated around a massive conference table in a luxuriously appointed room. The walls of the room were paneled in rich, warm-toned wood and the surface of the table—made of some wood so dark it was almost black—was polished to a mirror shine. Parchment, ink and quills were precisely stacked in the center of the table as well as on sideboards around the room. Crystal vases of water and glasses were also conveniently placed, and one sideboard at the end of the room was generously supplied with biscuits and scones, the makings for tea, a shiny coffee urn, and several bottles of top-shelf brands of firewhiskey, bourbon, vodka and other beverages.

Lucius had asked for, and quickly received, a kneeling pillow for Wood as he took up his accustomed place at Lucius' feet. The goblin attendant had also brought a second pillow for Flint, but Harry had declined it.

"No, he hasn't been good enough today to merit a cushion…the carpet will be good enough, thank you." He had directed at hard look at Lucius as the goblin gave a small bow and left, almost defying Malfoy to make an issue of his decision. Lucius, however, refused to rise to the bait. Instead, he concentrated on getting his own slave settled comfortably, with Wood leaning against his leg, Wood's head within easy reach for Lucius to reach down and play with his hair.

"Honestly, Lucius," Harry continued, "I don't know why you wanted to bring him along today at all. We both know that he doesn't do well in meetings like this."

Lucius turned and smoothly answered. "I brought him because it pleased me to do so, my lord," and he put just the slightest emphasis on Harry's title, "just as you did." He smiled gently at his partner, who seemed determined to fume about something today.

"Oh, I'm certain you did. I suppose the fact that Wood won't tolerate any meeting longer than one hour and you want to go shopping afterwards had nothing to do with it?" Harry asked sarcastically.

Lucius was about to reply when Perkins jumped in. "Oh, sirs, I seriously doubt that this meeting will take the full hour. After all, this is just a brief review prior to signing the documents of intent, which have been thoroughly worked out over the last…"

"Yes, yes, Perkins, we know…we've been doing our homework, haven't we, my lord?" Lucius interrupted with a wave of his hand. "And really, Harry, you should come with us shopping today. You know, get out, see and be seen by the people, allow your devoted public a chance to see the Hero of the Wizarding World…." Malfoy grinned, his tone unctuous.

"Bloody mindless rabble," Harry grumbled.

"Why, Harry Potter, you sound like someone I used to be," Lucius laughed and gave Wood's hair a playful muss. "That's hardly the attitude I'd expect from someone with his face on not one but three different collectable chocolate frog cards!"

"Bloody hell! Sodding cards." Potter was still grumbling, but he rolled his eyes when Lucius mentioned them. "And I suppose that you'll help me if your little shopping excursion turns into another 'Harry Potter fan fest'," he asked.

"Actually, no…not at all," Lucius smirked. "We reformed Death Eaters must maintain the proper distance from adoring crowds…purely in the interest of public safety, don't you know?"

"Wanker." Potter snorted.

"Saint Potter." Lucius retorted.

"Hmmph." Potter groused, but Lucius could tell that his heart wasn't really in it. He decided to dangle a bit of bait, just to see if Harry would bite.

"Actually, I was planning on stopping by the Weasley's shop first thing," he said. "I was going to pick up some confections to send to the EU council meeting next month."

"Lucius Malfoy, you will do no such thing!" Potter slapped the table. "I won't have you turning Europe's wizarding governors into canaries or gerbils!" Then, he grinned, "Unless, of course, you put someone else's name on it."

"I was thinking of assisting the Chinese consulate in The Hague, actually…I'm told that they've neglected to send any kind of missive to the EU council, which is a terrible oversight on their part. Rather than embarrass them and cause them to loose face, I was just going to send a little something in their name." Lucius just sat there, working hard at maintaining a kindly, helpful expression. It was, after all, such a rare expression for him to have….

Potter laughed loudly at that, his first real laugh of the day. Lucius also felt Wood burying his face in his leg, to muffle the laugh. Even Flint, seated on the floor beside Potter, snickered softly at Lucius' plan. Unfortunately, Harry heard him, and immediately reached down to cuff him. "Quiet, you!" he hissed.

"Now, Harry," Lucius tried to intervene, "just what has gotten into the both of you? I know it's none of my business, but…."

"You're right, it's not," Harry snapped. Then, he sighed. "I'm sorry, Lucius. Snape owled me yesterday, with another offer for Flint. Somehow, he's managed to scrape up 25,000 galleons, Merlin only knows how on a professor's salary, and he keeps begging me to sell."

"And doing anything Snape wants is completely impossible for you?" Lucius asked neutrally.

"Merlin's bones, Lucius, the man was absolutely horrible to me for years! Yes, now that I can, I'm going to do anything in my power to pay him back!" Harry was truly angry now as he remembered his treatment at the hands of his Potions professor.

"How Slytherin of you, Harry," Lucius said mildly. "Hold a grudge until it dies of old age, then have it stuffed, mounted, and display it on the mantelpiece. I thought you Gryffindors were above that sort of thing."

Harry just snorted. "I haven't been a good little Gryffindor for years now, thank you. Considering just how much grief trying to be a good little Gryffindor caused me…."

He was interrupted by the door opening. The same goblin that had escorted them into the room led the way, obviously performing the same service for the corpulent man who followed him. Two other men, obviously assistants to the first, followed along with two more goblins.

The first goblin was making introductions as Harry and Lucius rose.

"Herr Zintiffens, this is…." He was interrupted as Harry extended his hand.

"Potter, Harry Potter, Herr Zintiffens." Harry was all business as they shook.

"Ah, Graf von Potter, such an honor it is to meet you at last." The man's heavily accented English was only mildly difficult to follow. "Even in Germany have we heard of your most daring exploits, and at such a young age, ya? To have killed a Dark Wizard such as Voldemort when only just a young man, it is most impressive. And then, to have gone on to such success as a financier…it is a wonder!" He nodded in agreement with himself, his chins shaking up and down with the motion.

Harry maintained his polite smile even as Zintiffens gushed his praises. Lucius couldn't help but think that Potter had had plenty of practice at doing just that over the last few years. If he was angered or offended, he gave no sign of it as he replied. "The honor is all mine, Herr Zintiffens, and I thank you. You know Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Perkins, of course?"

Lucius reached across the table and briefly shook the offered hand. "Herr Zintiffens, good to see you again." He and the German nodded briefly, having met several times over the last few months in preparation for this meeting.

"Herr Malfoy, you are looking well. Herr Perkins," he nodded, but made no attempt to stretch across the table, as the other man was obviously out handshake reach. "These are my assistants, Grieg and Spatzer," he nodded to each man as he introduced them, and hands were shaken all around. Pulling out a chair, Zintiffens dropped heavily into it, his assistants flanking him on either side. "Shall we to work, then?"

Perkins immediately produced a sheaf of documents and proceeded to lead the discussion. Malfoy, well aware of what the documents were about, dropped his hand into Wood's hair to gently caress it while striving to listen attentively to the incredibly boring proceedings. His fingers lightly danced through the thick mop, and he felt Oliver press closer to him in response.

Lucius' face was a model of attentiveness, a useful skill that he had mastered while in the service of Voldemort. It allowed him to present the proper appearance while his mind roamed to whatever topic interested him. He only paid just enough attention to the proceedings to be able to respond to any questions he might be asked. His fingers continued to muss Wood's hair while inwardly he smiled. Potter and Perkins had frequently commented on how poorly Wood tolerated meetings such as this. Inevitably, at somewhere between thirty and forty minutes into a meeting, Wood would become restless, shifting and moving frequently enough to be a minor distraction. After another fifteen minutes or so, he would usually begin making small sounds of discomfort and tugging on random legs for attention. Once, during a particularly horrible session with a group of geriatric investors from Cornwall that had lasted nearly three hours, he had crawled up into Lucius' lap, wrapped his arms around his master's neck, buried his face in Lucius' neck and whined piteously. Lucius had excused both of them and immediately taken Wood back to his office to be 'punished' for his unseemly behavior. Of course, Wood's 'punishment' had been a few token swats to his behind (just enough to leave a faint reddish glow) before snogging the boy senseless, followed by Lucius taking Oliver in hand, bringing him to an explosive orgasm in short order.

What his partner and staff suspected, and was actually true, was that Lucius and Wood had established a system of signals so that both of them could be freed from the extended meetings they both despised. Malfoy had always believed that any meeting that lasted more than an hour was due to lack of organization and a waste of his time. Having a slave with such a 'poor tolerance to long meetings' allowed him a ready excuse to leave such meetings. As for Wood, he was more than happy to listen to any number of comments about his 'bad behavior' because Lucius always made certain that his promised 'most severe chastisement' was something to be gleefully anticipated. The two of them had had several good laughs (in private, of course) over the horrible reputation Wood had developed within Britain's wizarding financial community. And of course, it was now common knowledge that anyone who wanted Malfoy to attend a meeting in person had to plan the itinerary with Lucius' 'bad slave' in mind.

As a consequence, Malfoy's face-to-face time was never scheduled for more than an hour for any reason…exactly as he preferred. And, since Potter was his partner, it soon became the standard practice for them both, much to Potter's delight. As for the rest of the financial community, well, they grumbled a bit but had no choice but to go along with the principals of Potter & Malfoy.

Fortunately, their current meeting was the culmination of months of discussion, arrangement, negotiation and bargaining, done only for a final review and then signing of agreements between Potter & Malfoy Investments, Ltd. and Herr Zintiffens' Berlin-based financial group. Malfoy had assured Wood that it would only last half an hour, at most, and then promised the handsome young man (who, at that particular moment, had been cuddled against him in their bed) a shopping trip in Diagon Alley.

Malfoy took the documents Perkins handed him and silently perused them. Potter, who had been less directly involved in the process, seemed to be more closely reading certain sections. Lucius did note that Potter was not so engrossed in his reading that he didn't know when Flint shifted minutely beside him, reaching down to deliver a swat to the side of his slave's head without even looking down at him.

If the Germans noticed this, they gave no sign. They had already made their opinions known as to their discomfort with the entire concept of bond slavery, but as this was an ongoing area of contention between Britain and the wizarding communities of other nations, they politely refrained from bringing it up at this time. After all, what Harry had just done was well within both the letter and the spirit of the law, as well as being well within his rights as slave owner and master.

That Lucius found it not only crass but also sad in its own way made no difference. His only response was to subtly pull Wood closer to him, and he felt Wood come willingly.

Potter was asking a question.

"I see that the question of galleon/pound/euro conversion is addressed in section 2, paragraph 5?"

Malfoy glanced at Perkins, who was already answering.

"Oh, yes sir. We felt it easier to convert galleons into pounds prior to converting them to euros for funds being transferred say, from Gringotts of London to the Berliner Bank. Of course, the reverse would also apply for funds transferred the other way."

"This method also avoids any suggestion that we might be inappropriately adjusting exchange rates, Herr Potter," Zintiffens spoke up. "By using the standard rates posted at the time of the transfer, we avoid any suggestion of impropriety."

Harry nodded his agreement, then turned slightly to Perkins.

"And the goblins are okay with this? They're not insisting on direct galleon—euro conversion?"

Perkins was smiling as he replied. "Actually, my lord, they were the ones who were most adamantly in favor of this method. Apparently it simplifies their bookkeeping, and relieves them of the responsibility of setting yet another exchange rate. Additionally, the contracts specify that the all wizarding to muggle conversions will be done only in London, which will hopefully minimize any cross-Channel currency speculation."

Potter grinned. "And, no doubt, the goblins of London will no doubt heroically shoulder the burden this will place upon them…for their usual cut, of course."

A series of chuckles ran around the table at Potter's comment. There were words for people who expected something from a goblin for free: 'idiot' and 'fool' being the most common.

"And, it is to be hoped, this will reassure your English investors, to have their galleons tied not to our euro but directly to the British pound," one of Zintiffens' assistants, Grieg, spoke. "We understand that there continues to be some…uncertainty about the euro." He shrugged in a 'what can one do?' manner.

Potter seemed satisfied with that, and went back to his reading. Malfoy couldn't keep a small smile off his face. Merlin bless the hoary old pound sterling! Fortunately, the euro had settled down, but no one could deny that it had had a bit of a rocky start. Not that he hadn't made a tidy profit out of the euro's initial fluctuations, mind you….

Finally, Potter finished his reading and looked up.

"Well, everything looks to be as we discussed, and I have no more questions. Gentlemen, shall we sign?" He looked around the table expectantly.

Malfoy merely nodded once, as did Herr Zintiffens' assistants. Zintiffens himself was beaming and nodding with all of his chins, while Perkins was smiling brightly. There was the usual mild confusion over who was to sign which documents, and in which order, but this was easily dealt with by Perkins, Grieg and Spatzer.

Finally, all the documents were signed and sealed. The meeting closed with handshakes all around, and the parties made their exits from the conference room. Lucius made a point of giving his hand to Oliver to help him stand, carefully not noticing the look Harry gave him. Harry's only other response was to give Flint's leash a more forceful tug than usual as he clambered from under the table.

Perkins, as always, studiously avoided noticing the way both of his superiors treated their chattels. If his expression sometimes appeared a bit forced, well, that was simply the way of things. However, his beaming at this moment was genuine.

"Congratulations, gentlemen! Potter & Malfoy Investments, Limited has now officially moved onto the Continent!"

"Today Germany, tomorrow the EU, eh, Perkins?" Harry also looked genuinely pleased as he regarded his partner and staffer.

Lucius merely smiled faintly, although he too was greatly pleased with the arrangements they had just signed. Being formally aligned with Herr Zintiffen's Berlin-based financial group would allow them access to significant opportunities both in the EU and further east. Truly, a bright future seemed to lie ahead of them—a far cry from the dismal prospects he had all too recently enjoyed in Azkaban.

"Well, gentlemen, if that concludes the morning's business," Lucius said, "I promised someone a trip to Fortescue's." His smile grew as he looked fondly at his bond slave. "And, I think a trip to the Weasley's shop would also be appropriate, if for no other reason than to let them know that we will be able to facilitate their European expansion plans through our new associates in Berlin. Harry, why don't you and Flint join us? Perkins can handle the office on his own, I have no doubt." Perkins nodded once, confidently, when Malfoy glanced at him.

Harry scowled. His initial reaction was to beg off, not wanting the inevitable recognition he would get walking through the Alley. Then, he thought about seeing Fred and George…and their bond slave. He sighed, not realizing that Lucius noticed it.

"All right, I'll come. But," he said, glaring at his slave. "One instance of disobedience or improper behavior out of you, Flint, and I'll beat you to within an inch of your life when I get you home! Understand?"

Flint nodded, never looking up, his voice quiet. "Yes, Master." Lucius could not detect any flaw in Marcus's form or response, but it only seemed to barely satisfy his master. Harry just snorted as if he only barely believed his slave, but did allow him time to free himself from the chairs around the table before he led the way to the door. Marcus followed closely behind Harry, never letting his leash draw tight.

Lucius and Oliver followed behind, Oliver occasionally brushing against Lucius' shoulder. That his hand occasionally strayed to Lucius' arse was something only the two of them knew about. Part of the game they played while in public involved small acts of affection carried out in unnoticed ways under the noses of a sure to be disapproving populace. Lucius knew it was silly and juvenile, but he cherished each and every gesture.

In contrast, Harry Potter seemed to be actively avoiding any contact between himself and Flint as they left Gringotts. He did pause long enough for Malfoy and Wood to catch up with him before they left the Gringotts atrium for Diagon Alley proper. Harry seemed to be steeling himself for exposure to the throngs of people in the street, and Malfoy could easily see the tension in his face as the doors opened.

Sure enough, they had gone scarcely a dozen steps before they were recognized.

"Oh, Lord Potter! Good day to you sir!"

"Gor'blimey, 'arry Potter! Gave ol' Voldy a right propa walloping, ye did! Good on, mate!"

"Bless you, Mr. Potter, bless you, sir."

"Beggin' yor pardon, yor Lordship, but I just wanted ter say thank yer from the bottom of me 'eart."

Their progress through the streets was slowed to a crawl, mainly because Harry would at least smile and nod at everyone who spoke to him. Lucius, while only rarely recognized, had years of experience with the cultivated, aloof, expressionless and standoffish mask of the upper class. At best, people in the street would nod politely in passing. Most (excepting those who snarled at him) were content to pass quickly by, eyes downcast. Poor Harry, he thought. Too much the common man for his own good, even now.

Lucius counted himself fortunate that he only rarely was the target of over-ripe produce these days. Not so very long ago, such a walk would have emptied several garbage bins as his detractors sought suitable ammunition. Now, as a respected business figure, Ministry consultant and partner of the Man Who Killed Voldemort, he was once again able to walk the streets in relative safety. Of course, he was not above noticing the looks which his and Potter's bond slaves gathered. Wood and Flint were the only slaves he could see on the street; not at all surprising, as bond slaves were still a rarity. Even had he and Harry not been recognized for who they were, the very fact that they were accompanied by the near-naked slaves would have marked them as persons of great wealth and power.

Reactions to the slaves this day ran the usual gamut. Most people simply ignored them, pretending they didn't exist. Some gave disapproving looks, while others frankly leered. A few hurled curses and taunts, calling out 'Death Eater scum', 'where's Voldy now?', 'finally getting what you deserve', 'showing a bit more than the Dark Mark, aren't we?' and the like. One young tough hawked and spat on Flint, who shied back reflexively only to receive a snarl from his master in response. Emboldened, the tough grinned, hawked again and turned towards Wood…only to find himself face to face with Lucius Malfoy.

Malfoy was not smiling.

"I strongly suggest that you swallow that," Lucius said smoothly. Giving the young man his best Malfoy Death Glare™, he continued. "Should you in any way deface, taunt, frighten, annoy or otherwise harass my property, you will find yourself dealing with me. I doubt you would find such an experience pleasant. Do I make myself clear?"

Gulping loudly, the youngster beat a hasty retreat, as the rest of the crowd seemed to give Malfoy and both slaves a bit more room. When Wood's shoulder rubbed against his, Lucius whispered 'later'. From the corner of his eye, he saw Oliver's tiny wink and smiled inside. He knew that they would both have a good laugh about the episode later on, and that Wood would feel that he deserved special thanks for his protection. Given just how creative Oliver Wood could be with his thanks, Lucien considered his actions well worth the effort. Fortunately, his robe concealed the partial erection he developed in anticipation of said thanks.

Eventually, the foursome made their way to 93 Diagon Alley, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. As always, several customers were browsing the aisles when they arrived, testament to the brothers' booming business. Within moments of their arrival, however, what Lucius had secretly come to think of as the Obligatory Potter Mob-fest was well under way. Harry was surrounded by well-wishers, fans and what Malfoy was convinced were at least a few romantic hopefuls. Potter had once confessed to his business partner that it was not at all uncommon for him to receive slips of paper bearing names, love notes, floo addresses or even cell phone numbers during these times.

Lucius, upon learning what cell phones were, had immediately procured one. He had also acquired the habit of giving them to all his acquaintances as gifts. Clearly, in the area of instant communications, the muggles had achieved a level of competence which wizarding society still lacked. If P&M, Ltd. was also the primary backer of a small company working to extend magically-adapted cell phone service to otherwise isolated areas of wizarding Britain, well, that was just good business.

The Mob-fest was showing no signs of weakening until one of the Weasley twins came out of the back offices.

"Harry! Good to see you, come on back!" Pushing through the throng, the twin (Lucius couldn't tell which one) put an arm around Potter's neck and literally dragged him back towards the offices. Laughing, he shouldered a path through the crowd. "All right, people, let the man pass, there's a luv, step aside, step aside."

Lucius caught Wood's eye and signaled with a quick jerk of his head. Pushing forward and reaching out, he caught Flint's leash just before it would have jerked in Harry's hand. When Harry turned his head with a glare, Lucius lifted the leash in his hand and spoke.

"I've got these two, you go on." Nodding once, Harry let go of his end of the leash and let Fred (George?) lead him out of the clamoring throng.

With the object of their adulation gone, the crowd quickly dispersed. Malfoy found himself standing alone with the two slaves. He was about to follow Harry and George (Fred?) into the back of the shop when Flint brushed against him lightly.

"Thank you, sir, for everything you do for me," he whispered. Lucius glanced at the young slave instantly, but Marcus' eyes were downcast. Malfoy felt a tiny shudder run through Wood's leash right before he pressed himself close to his master. Lucius immediately realized that Wood had heard Flint's whisper and needed the contact. A brief surge of compassion for Harry's ill-treated chattel swept over him, followed by anger at his business partner. Lucius Malfoy certainly had no qualms about discipline when needed, but cruelty for its own sake had long since lost any attraction for him.

Lucius' tone was brusque as he turned to Flint and tugged on his harness. The straps were so tight that he moved it only with difficulty. It had to be very uncomfortable for the boy, needlessly so in his opinion. And, since a Malfoy never asks another's permission before acting as he see fit….

"I simply must have a talk with Potter about the proper way to groom a slave for appearing in public!" he groused. Fingering the leather straps with both hands, he affected not to notice Flint's wince of discomfort. Humming, muttering and tut-tuting to himself he pretended to adjust Flint's harness at various places, all the while using the nonsense sounds and gestures to hide the spells he was subtly working. In a matter of moments the rough leather straps were smoothed, stretched to a comfortable length, and imbued with the same non-binding charm that he used on Wood's rig. Turning the young man around, Lucius put no-pinch charms on the buckles and made sure that his resizing had worked to his own satisfaction. He restrained himself with some difficulty from healing the multiple wounds he saw on the boy's back but did allow himself to put a long-acting analgesia spell on him.

Shifting slightly so that his robe hid Flint from prying eyes, Lucius worked lower, putting the same comfort charms on the straps that circled the boy's waist and upper thighs. Gentle pressure on Flint's hips turned him to face the older man. Long, elegant, uncalloused fingers drifted over the too-tight pouch that confined Marcus' genitals in what had to be a painful fashion. Flint initially tensed when he realized where Malfoy's hands were headed, but he stoically braced himself for what he feared he was about to endure. When the slave felt the pleasurable release of the crushing leather followed by a wave of comfort from a healing spell, he sighed in relief. Malfoy was somewhat surprised and more than a bit pleased that Flint's groin showed no signs of scars or bruising. It looked as though mild discomfort, relatively speaking, was as far as Potter was willing to go with his slave…at least, in this particular area. Well, that was something, Lucius supposed.

"Deportment, Flint, deportment!" Lucius Malfoy snapped. "I will not have Potter's lax standards rubbing off on my slave, do you hear me?" Despite the bite in his words, the grip he had on Flint's chin, raising his face so that they made eye contact, was gentle. "Now, step back and let me look at you."

Obediently, Flint moved back a step, turning when Lucius twirled one finger in the air. To Lucius' eye, he appeared to move much more easily and freely. Satisfied, Malfoy nodded.

"Very well, much better, my boy, much better. I shall make a point of keeping a careful eye on you in the future, though, so mind you, no slacking!"

"No sir, I won't, sir," Flint whispered, not raising his eyes from the usual downward position. "Thank you for the…instruction, sir." If there was a slight pause in the phrase, it was not enough for anyone who might have heard to find noticeable.

"Mmmmph," was Malfoy's only reply as he stood, thinking. Reaching a decision, he pulled out his cell phone, flipped it open one-handed and enunciated clearly "call Magic Mart". Putting it to his ear, he proceeded to speak.

"Hello, Marbly? Lucius Malfoy…yes, I'm glad we were able to put you onto that little venture…some for your wife, too? I don't see why not…yes, Perkins will be in everyday this week, if you feel it can't wait…very good, then…say, Marbly, you know my boy Oliver Wood, comes in for me?…yes, played for Puddlemere…well, I'm sending him around with Potter's boy. I feel a celebration coming on…no, of course I can't tell you, the ink's not even dry yet…oh, shut it, when have you ever had cause to doubt P&M, eh?..well, come by and see me personally if you don't want to see Perkins, just call or floo ahead of time, you know the drill…now, shut up and let a man give his order…give me two, no make it three bottles of the '82 Veuve, you know which one I like…yes, that's it…two bottles of freshly-squeezed orange juice, make sure you use the good Spanish ones this time…and some kind of biscuit assortment, some breads, butter, spreads…brunch-y nibbly bits, that kind of thing…six to eight, should be just about right, always let the staff have at the overage…no, my account, but the boy'll have a few galleons, let him get what strikes his fancy…oh, and Marbly? We had a bit of annoyance from some ruffians on the way over, you might want to let out the word that Mr. Malfoy and Lord Potter don't take kindly to defacement of their property, if you catch my drift…excellent, Marbly, see you soon, ciao."

Turning to the two waiting slave boys, Lucius smiled and spoke to both of them.

"Oliver, Marcus, I want you to run down to the Mart and fetch the basket I just ordered. It should be ready by the time you get there." He noticed that, while Oliver Wood merely smiled and nodded, Marcus Flint visibly paled at the thought of being sent out into Diagon Alley unescorted. "Don't worry, Flint, I send Wood out all the time. You'll be fine. Tell, him, Wood," he ordered, and then tuned out the two boys while he rummaged in a pocket of his robe for some coins. Pulling out a handful, he handed them to Wood, but kept one back. Bringing up his wand, he thought for a moment before tapping his wand against the sickle.

"_Portus duo locus mei_", he intoned. He tapped again, saying "_strennus portus erus_". The silver piece in his hand promptly split into three equal parts. Putting his wand away, he gave each young man a part of the coin before slipping the third into his pocket.

"Firstly, remember that you are both in the service of Lucius Malfoy, and he who molests you insults me…understood?" Lucius waited until both Wood and Flint nodded. "Secondly, don't dawdle. Thirdly, Flint, follow Wood's lead. Finally, should a scene begin to develop, just say 'portus erus', and you'll be right back here at my side." He noticed Flint cast a hasty glance at Wood, who was standing calmly. "Wood, use those galleons, get something for the both of you, too." He winked at Oliver, who winked back. Lucius purposefully did not look at the astonished Flint, who looked as if his jaw was traveling towards his navel. "Now, off with the both of you!" He made a small 'shoo-ing' motion with his hand, and the two spun and bolted for the door. Smiling to himself, he turned to the door leading into the offices of WWW, Ltd.

Strolling through the small reception area, he heard the twin's voices as they were telling yet another story of how their products had been used.

"…and that teacher has absolutely forbidden any student to bring him any candy whatsoever!" One of the twins finished, and both they and Harry dissolved into laughter.

Lucius paused a moment before entering, just watching a laughing Harry Potter. It was a sight so rarely seen by anyone these days, even by his closest associates and friends. That the twins could still bring out this side of Harry was nothing short of remarkable, and Lucius made a note to try to get the three of them together more often.

"Gentlemen, I hope I haven't overstepped my bounds," he said, sweeping into the room. "But I felt that a small celebration was in order, so I sent the boys out for refreshments."

"Brilliant!" "Celebration! Bring it!" Both twins were immediately in agreement with whatever Lucius had planned, but Harry's face immediately dropped into a scowl.

"You sent my slave off on an errand, Malfoy? That's quite generous of you," Harry spat out.

Lucius waved away Harry's anger. "Oh, don't worry, Harry, they're together, they'll be fine."

"You may trust Wood to run errands for you, but that little bastard Flint…" Harry's teeth were grating so hard Lucius could hear them from across the room.

"…will be with Wood every step of the way. Besides, I called Marbly, he'll keep an eye on them…and I gave them both a portkey back to me for emergencies. Don't worry, Harry," he finished, settling back onto an overstuffed chair. "Besides, I thought a bit of champagne might be appropriate, seeing as how we've just taken the necessary first steps towards Weasley's Wizard Wheezes going international." Smiling, Lucius raised his eyebrows as the twins exploded at his news. 10 points to Slytherin, he thought, for stopping Harry's rant before it had gotten a good start.

Indeed, Harry had all that he could do for the next several minutes, explaining how the agreement between Potter and Malfoy, Ltd. and Herr Zintiffens' Deutschzauberkunst GmbH gave immediate German market access to all of P&M's clients.

"So, Harry, what you're saying is, today Germany…" one twin began.

"Tomorrow, the world?" The other finished.

"Exactly, Fred." Harry said, being long used to the twin's habit of finishing each other's sentences. Lucius was careful to note which twin Harry identified as Fred. "But you might want to spend a day or so on the EU before moving on, don't you think?"

"Oh, Harry, there you go again…." Fred said.

"…thinking small. When are you ever going to learn?" asked George. "Oi, Malfoy," George said, turning as he spoke. "Can't you do something about this boy? After all, he's defeated a Dark Lord, rehabilitated Voldy's number one Death Eater, become one of the richest men in England…."

"Don't forget the title, and the knighthood…." Fred chipped in.

"Oh, yeah, and the knighthood _and_ an Earldom, mustn't forget that." George was almost laughing too hard to speak.

Lucius just looked up at both twins and shook his head ruefully. "Yes, boys, I know it's sad…but what is one to do with a chronic underachiever like our Harry, here?" Somehow, he was able to maintain a straight face as he turned to a seething Harry Potter…just before Harry himself lost it and dissolved into a bout of giggles.

"I just want…you all to know…" Harry managed to get out between giggles, "that the lot of you are horrible prats…and complete gits."

"Oi, boy! Bring us some tea, before Lord Sir Harry chokes himself!" Fred called out.

Malfoy started to speak out that Wood and Flint should be back any moment, but stopped when the Weasley twin's bond slave entered the room carrying a tea set. Wordlessly, he put the set on the sideboard and turned to go. George, being nearest, stopped him with a hand.

"You are allowed to talk, you know." He chided the slave gently.

"Hello, Lord Potter. Hello, Father." Draco Malfoy never raised his head as he spoke.

**A/N:** So, I wanted to have naked (or nearly so) slaves wandering Diagon Alley. I also wanted to have Complete Bastard!Harry and Reformed!Lucius, and couldn't resist the chance to put Draco into a harem boy outfit. Plus, Harry/Draco is really my first love in fanfic, despite spending most of my writing efforts on my Harry/Cedric series. Yes, I know I should be writing on that one (and I am, truly), but this story has been languishing far too long. Now, it shall languish no more!

**Next Chapter:** Harem-boy!Draco, champagne and Weasley Twins! Can you stand it?


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** As promised, the next chapter without delay! With champagne, no less! Also, Harem Boy Draco…. Now, if someone would only draw us a picture of Draco in his little harem boy outfit, life would be even sweeter. But no pictures of Molly's hemorrhoids, please-that would be less than pleasant.

**Disclaimer:** as before

**BY MAGIC BOUND**

_or_

_**Love Slaves of Diagon Alley**_

**Chapter 2**

Draco Malfoy was dressed in what could only be described as harem boy chic. Bare-chested and bare-footed, his only garments were a filmy pair of pantaloons over a very skimpy thong, leaving little or nothing to the imagination. Gold chains adorned waist, wrists and ankles. Even the plain matte black slave collar was wrapped with a gold chain. Matching diamond stud earrings—each well over a carat, if Lucius was any judge—completed the ensemble. Everything about Draco's appearance screamed 'pampered slave' and whispered 'bedroom play-toy'.

"Hello, Draco," Lucius said softly.

"Draco," was all Harry said. His voice caught, and Lucius thought that his eyes were a bit brighter than usual when he looked at the blond slave.

Just then, the door opened and a laughing Oliver Wood burst in, followed by a more subdued Marcus Flint.

"Champagne! We brought champagne! Where are the glasses?" Wood crowed, storming in and putting an orange-labeled bottle in his Master's hand. Turning to the nearest Weasley twin, he gave him a similar gift, then put the third bottle into a shocked Harry Potter's lap.

"Malfoy! What's the meaning of this?" Potter asked hotly.

"Well, well, well, Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin '82? Malfoy, I take back all, well some, of those nasty things I've said about you." George was looking at the bottle he now held with something like awe.

"Malfoy, I never knew you cared!" Fred laughed. He opened a drawer and began rummaging for cups.

"Don't thank me, thank the boys who went and fetched it," Lucius said, smiling. "Wood, did you have any trouble?"

"Oh, no, sir, none at all. Mr. Marbly was out in the street looking for us, and he even gave us each a biscuit. I hope that was alright?" Oliver asked, glancing over at Harry anxiously.

"Flint, is that true?" Harry asked darkly.

"Y…yes, Master. I thought it would have been rude not to eat the biscuit, after he was so kind to give it to us, so…." Flint spoke with his eyes downcast, standing shock still, his hands behind his back.

"Well, of course it would have been rude, what of it? It's only a silly biscuit, after all, not a case for the Old Bailey," George spoke up as he struggled with the champagne cork. "I, for one, think that you two did well, for such obvious prats." His laughing tone took any possible sting out of his words.

"Here, here!" Fred spoke up from the sideboard, where he and Wood were busily laying out trays of biscuits, scones, bagels and tubs of jams, jellies, cheeses and spreads.

"Marbly was acting on my instructions, Harry…I told him to give the boys a little something while they were there." Lucius' voice had just a hint of his old coldness in it. "If you have a problem with that, we can discuss it later." Blandly, he faced his business partner, one eyebrow slightly raised.

Harry, knowing when he had been outmaneuvered, shrugged and turned to accept a plastic cup filled with champagne. His calm poise was shattered when Draco seemed to appear out of nowhere beside him.

"Lord Potter, may I serve you?"

Harry jerked, almost dropping his cup.

"Yes, of course, Draco…that would be, er, nice."

Lucius took note of the slight blush spreading up from Harry's collar. Interesting, he thought. Quite a different reaction from the way Harry usually treated Flint. Why hadn't he noticed it before? Of course, Draco had only recently been auctioned and purchased by the twins. In fact, it had come as a complete surprise to both he and Potter when Fred burst into their office, crowing about having bought 'the ferret' at a recent slave auction.

Oh, Lucius remembered well his own shock at hearing that his only son and heir had been auctioned off like a common slave…no, _as_ a common slave. Draco only had another few months left to serve on his Azkaban sentence, and Lucius and Harry had discussed on more than one occasion the feasibility of bringing Draco into the firm with them. As he thought about it, the elder Malfoy realized that it had been Potter who had first brought up, then pushed the idea of using their business to begin his son's rehabilitation into wizarding society.

Lucius' mind flashed back to a conversation they had held only a few weeks previously, when Harry had been particularly adamant that Draco be brought on board as quickly as possible following his release.

"Yes, Lucius, I realize that he'll need some time after Azkaban to recover, but damn it all, running and hiding his face is NOT the behavior I've come to expect from a Malfoy!" Harry had been stalking around his desk, occasionally pounding his fist onto the polished surface for emphasis.

"Harry, it will have been just over two years," Lucius had used his most calming tones, not that they had done any good. Harry's Gryffindor was up and woe unto all who challenged his vision of how the world should work. "You have no idea of just what that will do to a man…it won't be easy for him to readjust to normal life."

"Well, then it's up to us to do everything we can to help him, then, isn't it?" Potter's words had all the surety of carved stone tablets. "I won't let someone like him—who shouldn't have gone to Azkaban in the first place—just crawl into a hole and die!"

And really, what could Lucius have said to counter that? He had discovered, shortly after his own release, that Harry had vigorously opposed Draco's being brought to trial by the Wizengamot after the war. Yes, Draco had tried to kill Dumbledore, but Harry himself had been the witness whose testimony had established beyond a shadow of a doubt that Snape had actually done the deed. Yes, it had been Draco who had provided the Death Eaters a means of ingress to Hogwarts through the Vanishing Cabinet. Again, Harry had been the one to testify that Draco had only done so out of fear of what Voldemort would do to his family had he refused. And yet, despite all that Draco had done for the Order after that—spying, providing information and intelligence as well as the odd gift-wrapped Death Eater or six, all at great personal and family risk, all confirmed by one Harry Potter—the Wizengamot had decided that a stint in Azkaban was the only fitting reward for Draco Malfoy.

Harry's words when he heard the verdict had earned him more than a few enemies, some few of whom still managed to cling to their positions.

While Lucius Malfoy had as of yet been unable to prove anything directly, he had strong suspicions that Draco's appearance on the auction block was the direct action of some of those very same enemies. It was known by a few, including those members of the Wizengamot and Ministry who had been at Draco's closed trial, that Harry and Draco had worked together closely during the final months of the war. The animosity between the two had been hammered by the stresses of war into something very nearly resembling respect, if not friendship. Despite a few scurrilous rumors, Lucius rather doubted that it had gone any further than friendship; but both were young, single, rumored to be gay and cursed with fame and/or infamy. Given their history together, Lucius had already resolved to not be surprised by whatever might develop between the two.

Now, however, Potter's reaction to Draco's presence was the final piece in a mental puzzle that Lucius hadn't even known he was contemplating.

Harry Potter was attracted to Draco Malfoy.

Strongly attracted, based on his behavior.

Lucius had wondered at the intensity of Potter's reaction to the news that Draco was a bond slave. After his initial shock had passed, he had only taken long enough to interrogate—there was no other word—his friend before flooing directly to the Ministry. Several hours later, a snarling Harry Potter had returned to the office and peremptorily summoned the best barristers and solicitors in wizarding Britain. Most, upon hearing just who was demanding their services, had come within the hour. Three that did not personally respond sent senior clerks with profuse apologies and offers of after-hours consultation, which Harry grudgingly accepted. Several that refused to come, one quite rudely, shortly thereafter found most of their clients going elsewhere.

The rude responder, at last report, had announced the closing of his legal practice with the intention of taking an early retirement 'somewhere warm and sunny, at least a thousand miles away'.

Unfortunately, by that time it was a _fait accompli_. Not even the best lawyers backed by buckets of galleons could remove the collar from around Draco's neck. Oh, yes, the speed with which he had been cleared for the PACC program was somewhat irregular. Also, yes, it was somewhat odd that someone as close to release as Draco would be shunted into the PACC program, but the paperwork was all in order.

Harry had taken to using 'paperwork' as a general all-purpose swear word. He was also noticed, in his odd free moment, to amuse himself by conjuring then immolating effigies of various Ministry bureaucrats.

Most irritating of all had been ex-Auror John Dawlish. Fully aware that it had been Harry who had pushed for his termination, he had been bitterly proud of holding onto any Ministry job at all. Never quite stupid or inept enough to be sacked outright, he had been forced into the lowliest position open at the Ministry—that of a clerk in the newly opened PACC office. His glee at being able to hide behind the rules and regulations of a centuries-old bureaucracy while thwarting 'the great Lord Potter' was absolutely fiendish. On more than one occasion, solicitors wearing robes that cost more than Dawlish's yearly salary had to physically restrain Harry from strangling the man with his bare hands.

It probably hadn't helped Draco's case when Harry took out a full-page add in the Daily Prophet offering to meet any Ministry bureaucrat any place, any time in a duel to the death.

He had no takers.

The very next week, _Witch Weekly_ ran an opinion poll in which 77% of those polled wanted Harry to be the next Minister for Magic, 17% wanted him named Prime Minister, 3% would support Harry being adopted into the Royal Family and declared Heir to the Throne, and 4% wanted him to run for President of the United States of America.

Apparently, a group of American wizards had been 'soaking up the atmosphere' (including large quantities of Ogden's Red Label firewhiskey) in the Leaky Cauldron while the polling was being done, and had graciously agreed to participate. This had necessitated the addition of the 'run for President' category in the poll. Fortunately for the state of Anglo-American relations, a hastily-conceived plan to kidnap Harry and portkey him back to the States for an emergency naturalization ceremony foundered before it could be carried to completion.

In a related article, the _Weekly_ reported that an American Supreme Court justice, close friend of one of those present in the Cauldron at the time, flatly refused to perform the naturalization when contacted by cell phone. Said justice was also able to convince the group of the unfeasible nature of their plan under international, British and American law but did graciously offer to administer the citizenship oath to Harry should he ever request it. Subsequently, a full-page add in the _Weekly_, taken by the Americans on the spot, offered to trade any three U.S. Senators, a number of Congressmen to be determined later and two random Cabinet Secretaries for Harry. Any ill will this might have generated was tempered by the statement of one of the Americans in the accompanying article that "hell, ma'am, we like ya'll too damn much to inflict any more o' them Washin'ton censored on ya, ya heah? Far as I'm concerned, ya'll are welcome t' the whole censored gub'ment! We jes thought we'd get ole' Harry to come 'n help us thin out some o' them motherless sons o' censored, thas all."

As usual, a full interview with this gentleman was made available to adult readers using a special adults-only charm, due to harsh language and several graphic descriptions of alleged behaviors attributed to select members of the legislative and executive branches of the American—or, as it was referred to in the interview, damnyankee-government.

The _Daily Prophet_ had carried the story of the American's visit to Diagon Alley from a somewhat different angle. It seemed that the Ministry was not terribly pleased with the sentiments expressed by the visiting Americans, who for some reason became terribly agitated when referred to as 'Yanks'. Ministry officials had expressed every confidence that it would only be a matter of time before they would be able to remove the large Confederate Naval Ensign (the 'Stars and Bars') that had been charmed onto the ceiling of the Leaky Cauldron.

Lucius remembered going with Harry to see the thing. Harry's only response when he looked at it had been to shake his head, give a low whistle, and make a snide comment about not holding his breath until it came down.

"…wouldn't you agree, Malfoy?"

Lucius snapped out of his revere at the sound of Fred's voice. "I'm sorry, what?"

Mentally he cursed himself for woolgathering. A Malfoy never woolgathers.

"Drifting off even before the champagne, Lucius?" Harry teased. "What evil thoughts are you harboring over there, hmm?"

"Nothing that I'd care to discuss in a room full of Gryffindors," he answered smoothly. "You were saying…."

"I was asking what you thought about Fred's idea for moving into the potions business," Harry repeated.

Lucius thought for a moment, trying to recall the conversation he had only peripherally listened to. Something about using new methods to increase potion volume production without sacrificing quality, that was it.

"I'm not sure I would be willing to risk any significant number of galleons until I was sure about the persons and processes involved," he answered truthfully. "That kind of thing has been tried before, multiple times, and each and every instance ultimately proved to be a financial disaster for the investors. I believe the last time someone actually made a serious attempt at it was in the early 1950's, when several people died from substandard healing potions. No," he finished, leaning back, "I would be quite hesitant to involve my own money in such a venture."

"Besides, you've got to consider the mindset of the average wizard," Harry picked up and continued when his partner finished. "They know that most potions are beyond their own brewing skills, and usually can only be made in small batches. That's why almost every family has their own local alchemist or apothecarian they turn too for their general needs. There's a personal touch, and a relationship there, that mass-produced potions will never have."

Both Fred and George seemed ready to argue the points. Fred was the first to start.

"But what if you were buying a pre-made potion from that very same local person? Wouldn't you have that personal touch, even if he didn't do the brewing himself?"

"I suppose that you might, but most people won't take a potion if they don't know who brewed it." Harry pointed out.

"What about Bester's Brew Boxes," George asked? "They've been selling all great guns, from what I hear."

Introduced a little over a year earlier, the Brew Box—'_EVERYTHING YOU NEED EXCEPT THE_ _CAULDRON_'—had become something of an overnight sensation. Pre-measured and prepared ingredients, idiot-level instructions and an elegantly labeled vial were all included in a small container that reminded Lucius of Chinese takeaway. Most people who were reasonably decent at potions could use a Brew Box and produce an acceptable product.

Lucius smiled. "I seem to remember reading that roughly 70% of Bester's sales were to professional potion-makers who used them in their own businesses. Apparently, all that chopping and grinding begins to get old."

"Oi, Draco, tell Harry and your father what you were telling us about Bester's the other day, eh?" Fred nudged the slave standing quietly at his side.

Draco had clearly not been expecting to be called upon to speak. "S…Sir?"

"Come on, mate, we all know you're the deftest potion hand in the room," Fred's voice was reassuring. "We're all friends here, no one'll say a word against you, especially since you're doing it on my order. Now, speak up!" He grinned, and gave Draco another nudge of encouragement.

"Well…sirs….Bester's seems to have limited themselves to a small number of products, mostly topical potions and unguents. All of them are very simple to brew and use components that can be easily prepared in advance. Also, all of their components are well known to have a long shelf life even after they've been prepared. This means that a Brew Box can sit on a shelf for several months before the ingredients loose their potency."

Lucius nodded. Draco's analysis thus far was in complete agreement with the articles he had read on Bester's products, as well as his own knowledge of the subject.

Draco appeared to have finished, but George urged him on. "Draco, what about expanding their product line, like they keep promising in the trades?"

The younger Malfoy looked up, almost shocked. "Hah! They can't, not really! I mean…." For a moment, the old Draco had shone through before he caught himself, his eyes and voice both dropping. "Your pardon, masters…." He trailed off.

Harry leaned forward in his seat, reached out and took Draco's chin in his hand. Lifting Draco's head until he made eye contact, his voice was firm but gentle. "Draco, we want to hear your honest opinion. Please?"

Lucius quickly took note of the expressions in the room. Fred and George were both blushing at the intimate tone of Harry's voice. Draco was staring into Harry's eyes, probably not aware of his own blush, or that he was licking his lips anxiously. Harry was staring, unblinking, into Draco's eyes, his thumb making small circular movements on Draco's jaw. Lucius felt Oliver settle down beside his leg, leaning close. And Flint? Marcus Flint's eyes and fists were tightly clenched, and his body quivered with suppressed emotion as he saw his Master treat Draco with a gentleness he had never received.

Finally, Draco took a deep breath, and nodded to Harry, who dropped his hand.

"Bester's has…has probably already reached the limits of what they can bring to market with their current concept," he said. His voice grew stronger with each word. "First, their entire concept is based on simplicity, and they've already covered the simplest potions. Second, most ingredients keep best in their natural or raw forms. Chopping, mincing, shredding, whatever…some herbs will keep for weeks after they've been prepped for a potion, but many won't last more than a few days before the loss of potency becomes a major factor. In a least one of the Brew Boxes they've managed a workaround for fresh milkweed sap, probably by including a sealed, magically preserved vial of the stuff…."

"Is that their bruise-healing paste?" George interrupted.

When Draco nodded, Fred jumped in. "If you had a Box, could you tell us how they put it together?"

"Of course," Draco said with a ghost of a sneer. At this, the twins both laughed, Harry smiled brightly, and Lucius gave his son a small wink. Emboldened, Draco continued. "Get me one of them, and I'll have it torn apart and put back together again in no time!"

"Well, he's the fiery little dragon, isn't he?" Fred gave Draco's bottom a friendly spank. "And it's about time, too, Draco," he said, as the slave boy gave him a mild glare. "We've been waiting for you to come out of that simpering shell the Ministry's slave trainer's put you in."

"Bloody well took 'im long enough," George huffed. Crossing the room, he swung his arm around Draco's shoulders and turned to face the rest of the room. "We didn't spend all those hard-earned galleons just to buy ourselves a human door mat, mate. Me and the other here," he nodded to Fred, who was nodding himself in agreement, "we agreed that we wanted the Ferret here as much for his spirit as for the porridge between his ears." Draco was blushing and wriggling furiously, trying without success to escape George's grip.

Fred reached out and encircled Draco's waist with a long arm, preventing him from going anywhere. "Yep, that's exactly it. We knew that he was a dab hand at potions, as well as the odd prank or two—never in our league, of course—so we figured that with a little training, he'd make a fine addition to the family."

"Might I remind you two that Malfoy is a bond slave? You'll do nothing but cause trouble, treating him like that. What happens if he shows his old self in public? Which one of you will be responsible for taking him for the public caning the law mandates? Fred? George?" Harry's voice was as cold as a North Sea winter.

"Oh, bugger the law, and bugger you, _Lord_ Harry," George drawled. "Since when did the Great Harry Potter give one whit about a law he didn't like? Our Drake's not stupid, not by a stretch, and he's not going to give any offense in public, we're sure of that."

"Yeah, Harry, it's just family here, idin't it? No one around to take offense, so if the boys here get to behave like human beings" and Fred's voice dripped sarcasm as he pointedly looked at Marcus Flint, "just while they're here with us; it's no harm, no foul. Or are you here to tell us different, Lord Sir Harry?" Both of the twins had subtly shifted in front of Draco, Lucius noted, and were glaring at Harry defiantly.

For a moment, Harry glared back. Then, sighing, he dropped his head. "I just don't want Draco to wind up on the public whipping barrel, that's all," he said in a small voice.

"Like me."

The whisper from Flint was barely perceptible, but Harry's reaction was instantaneous. His head snapped up, and he immediately colored with rage as he turned on his own slave.

"Yes! Like you, you worthless piece of Death Eater scum! You obviously need another taste of the cane to teach you to hold your tongue!" Harry's voice shook the walls of the small room. "In fact, why wait? This early in the day, I'm sure the Barrel Master can take you right up, no waiting!" Snarling, Harry jumped to his feet, reaching out to snatch the leash from Flint's offering hands.

He was not expecting to be rudely shoved back down into his seat by a much larger, equally angry Weasley.

"Sit down, git!" George loomed over the furiously sputtering Potter, his hands crossed over his chest determinedly. "Your man there didn't say a word that wasn't Merlin's own truth, and I will be damned if I see him whipped for speaking the truth under my very own roof!"

"Fine! Feel free not to watch!" Harry growled, trying to come out of the side of the chair. Unfortunately for him, there was another equally large and determined Weasley there to intercept him.

"Circe's tits, Harry, get a hold of yourself, man!" Fred barked at his friend.

Boxed in by the twins, Harry had no choice but to sit back, fuming. When neither of the twins showed any signs of moving, he visibly controlled himself.

"All right, all right, you win. No whipping for Flint today," he huffed.

"Today?"

"Not good enough, Harry." Neither twin had moved from blocking Harry in the chair, and both were staring down with identical looks on their faces.

"Harry, you know that you're family to us…" George began.

"…as much a brother as that great git Ron…" Fred jumped in.

"…and we know that you bought Flint here mainly to piss off greasy old Snape…"

"…a measure that we fully understand, mind you…"

"…but enough is enough."

"And we wouldn't be your friends if we let you keep on with this…this nonsense." Fred finished.

The twins shared a quick look before they stepped back. George dropped into a sitting position right in front of Harry.

"Harry, what you're doing to Flint…it's just not right." George spoke gently from the floor.

"It is my right under the law as his owner to discipline him as I see fit," Harry grated out through clenched teeth.

"What, to torture him because of how Snape treated you in school? Harry, that makes no sense at all."

Harry had no answer to this except a sullen look.

"Right, then," Fred sighed. Turning away from his position in his chair he strode to his desk. A moment's rummaging produced a sheaf of legal-sized parchments bound up with green ribbon. Lucius recognized the look of Wizengamot documents, and leaned forward in his chair for a better look.

Fred carried the documents back to where Harry still sulked under George's guard.

"You'll want to be reading these, then," Fred said, holding them out for Harry to take. When Harry didn't move to take them, Fred's temper stirred. "Well, take the damned things, eh? Trouble enough to get the bloody things without you just sitting there like some great lump. Doubt they'll bite you, you git," he finished.

At that, Harry ventured a small smile. "Well, considering the source…." He made a show of carefully looking at the papers, turning and twisting his head as if looking for invisible teeth with a look of extreme concentration on his face.

"Prat!" Fred laughed, whacking the Savior of the Wizarding World over the head with the bundle. "Take these before I have to thrash you with them!"

Potter took the stack, smirking, and announced to the room "well, no bites yet! Ow! Now who's the prat?" as George smacked his leg from the floor. "What's in here? Looks like Wizengamot records, official copies by the color of the tape." Not making any move to open the packet, he merely looked back and forth between the twins.

Both Weasleys were starting to turn the famous Weasley red.

"Well, erm, you see, Harry."

"…we've been doing some research of our own…"

"…into potions…"

"…exactly, potions, and other things…"

"…but mostly potions, you know…"

"…like improved versions of, oh…"

"…wolfsbane, for one…"

"…and scar removal…"

"…and, erm, hemorrhoids…well, okay, maybe not so much hemorrhoids…"

"…definitely not…"

"…not that there's not a market there for a better hemorrhoid salve out there…"

"…you should hear Mum go on when she's having a bout with her 'roids a'bleeding…"

"…oh, that's so, be glad you've missed out on that Harry…"

"…maybe we should have him over to the Burrow for tea the next time Mum's having a flair, what? Share the joy and all..."

Harry broke in. "But as you were saying…?" He looked over the tops of his glasses at the rambling twins with a repressive glare that would have done Minerva McGonagall proud.

"Right…erm, where were we?" The twins looked at each other, confused for a moment.

"You were telling Harry about your potions research," Lucius offered helpfully, trying to get them back onto the issue at hand. He was beginning to wonder where this was leading.

"Potions! Yes!" George was a fraction of a second faster than Fred. "Anyway, we were working on a way to improve the old Scaradicate Salve that Winikus & Co. has been selling for years…"

"…fat lot of good it's done blokes like Bill, it has; won't touch any kind of curse scar or magical creature wound…"

"…we even called up Winikus and asked to speak to someone in their research branch…"

"…utter wankers, refused to talk to us, seeing as we 'didn't have the qualifications'…"

"…and shouldn't be dabbling in potions, anyway…"

"…suggested that we contact a private Potions Master instead…"

"…so we went looking for the best in Britain, and one name kept coming up over and over again…"

"Snape." Harry spat out the name like it had a foul taste.

"Snape," Fred repeated.

"Yep, old Greasy Git himself," George confirmed.

"Whatever you may think of Severus, his skill as a Potions Master is beyond question." Lucius' smooth voice slid into the conversation. "Lupin still contracts with Snape for his wolfsbane potion," with funds supplied by one Harry Potter, he knew but didn't mention, "because, quite simply, he says that no one brews a better one. I've also heard rumors that several highly-placed people, victims of Greyback and others during the war, go to Snape for their wolfsbane as well."

"Master, if I may?" Flint asked Harry hesitantly, eyes downcast.

"If you must," Harry replied with a not-quite snap.

"Thank you, Master. I was just going to say that Professor Snape provides potions to several of the old wizarding houses. My own family," and here he choked, then sniffled, "was quite grateful to have his potions on hand some years back, during my gran's last days. She had an illness, what the muggles call Alzheimer's disease, and her mind…well, she became very child-like at times. Sometimes she would accuse us of stealing her things, like her bag or her wand, or she would get angry for no reason and start hexing us all." He paused, sighed, then continued. "Professor Snape made sure that we had Calming Draughts on hand that we could put in her tea, and a Magic Suppression potion that we finally had to use." The young man looked up at his Master, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "My family's not rich, my Lord, not like some, and Magic Suppression potion not only uses very costly ingredients but is fiendishly difficult to make, as Draco can tell you. Sometimes it was all we could do to afford the ingredients, but Severus never once made us do without. He even helped us get a child's wand for her that would only shoot a stream of bubbles or flowers from the tip, and he was the one who showed her how to use it." Marcus was now half-smiling, half crying from his memories. "None of the family could have possibly talked her into giving up her wand, but Severus did it in just a few minutes. He would come every few weeks, bringing us potions, and then would spend an hour or so visiting and playing with Grams, the two of them shooting bubbles at each other. When I missed so much of my seventh year helping Mum and Da take care of Grams, Severus was the one who convinced Dumbledore to let me repeat the year before taking my NEWTs. Later on, when I was forced to become a Death Eater…."

Flint was interrupted by a loud snort from Harry, who looked as if he was going to say something scathing about this before he noticed the cold glares he was getting from around the room. Sitting back in the chair, he huffed, "whatever, go on."

Flint took a deep breath before continuing. "Severus helped protect me several times from the Dark Lord's 'discipline'. I was considered a failure because I could never cast the Killing Curse properly, and my Imperius was always weak. To make up for it, the Dark Lord made me practice Cruciatus on a poor muggle until I got it right. Severus showed me how to do it, and also a way to adjust the amount of pain it caused without anyone else know what I was doing. That way, when I had to demonstrate my new trick for the Dark Lord, I was able to hurt my target just enough for a good show without giving them the full Cruciatus effect." He hung his head. "Severus knew what to expect from the Dark Lord's 'mercy'—I had to demonstrate the Cruciatus on my own little brother, or both of us would have been killed. And yes, I tried to help Severus spy for the Order as best as I could," he said, raising his head defiantly. "Believe it or not, as you will. But one thing nobody can deny is that Severus Snape is the best Potions Master in all of Britain!" Flint looked ready to fight anyone who disagreed with him just them, consequences be damned. Fortunately, Harry didn't seem to notice his slave's attitude just then, as he was lost in his own thoughts.

George rose smoothly from the floor to clap an affirming hand on Flint's shoulder. Lucius noticed that this also put the twin between Harry and his slave.

"We believe you mate…and now you can believe it or not, you've actually stolen some of the surprise we were going to give our Harry, there." George smiled and nodded, pleased at the young man. There was no way that Harry could have seen the wink that George gave to Flint, or the surprised look that wink caused.

"Marcus is right, at least as far as I know," Draco was speaking, holding all of Harry's attention. "Professor Snape let me watch him brew the Magic Suppression potion once. It makes Polyjuice look like making pumpkin juice, and it has to be completed in 4 hours or it's useless. Snape was always completely exhausted and dripping with sweat when he finished, and almost always went straight for a shower and a nap afterwards."

Smack! Fred slapped Draco's arse and laughed as he yelped and danced away. "There, don't go lying to us, boy! Snape, shower? Oh, please!"

Lucius noted the tiny flare of…something in Harry's eyes at Fred's act of familiarity with Draco before Harry dropped into his more usual smirk.

"And here I thought that Snape was like the witch in that muggle story, allergic to water! Do you have any idea how many times I dreamed about throwing a mop bucket full on his greasy head, just to watch him dissolve?"

"He's not really that greasy! He just has to use that flame-retardant oil in his hair to keep from being singed bald in his classes," Draco explained as he backed up to the nearest wall, protecting his bottom from further abuse. "All the Slytherins know that, you stupid Gryffindorks!"

"Yeah, just think about it…considering some of the hopelessly potion-challenged students he has to deal with…" Marcus surprised himself by speaking up, only to be interrupted by Draco.

"…like Longbottom, sweet Merlin!"

"…he'd be bald as an egg." Flint finished, blushing.

Fred, George and Lucius exchanged looks and readied themselves to deal with Harry's reaction to this exchange. Wood, no fool he, dropped to one knee beside Lucius' chair, out of the line of fire but still ready to run like hell. None of them expected what happened next.

Harry burst into howls of laughter, dropping the parchments so he could hold his stomach. "So his hair…he greases it with…flame-proofing oil!" Harry gasped for breath before going off again. "I can…just see him…bald and scorched…after leaning over one of Neville's creations…poor Neville…he was so hopeless, especially our first…couple…of years." Calming a bit, Harry went on. "Make Devil's Snare sing God Save the Queen in five-part harmony with a snap of his fingers, he can, but he's still hopeless at potions. Say," he straightened brightly as an idea struck him. "Do you think we could get Neville and Snape to make a Brew Box together? AFTER we change out Snape's oil for something a bit MORE flammable?" And then Harry was off again at the mental image of that spectacle.

Lucius, though, had the final word on the subject. "I've been wanting an excuse to buy myself a muggle video camera…I wonder if Longbottom and Snape would let us film it?"

And with that, the room dissolved into laughter.

* * *

It was quite a few minutes later before anything even remotely resembling serious talk resumed. By then, everyone had had a good laugh at the expense of persons not there to defend themselves, and everyone (slaves included) had had at least one dose of champagne. Lucius was sipping on his second cup and watching the room. He had already added 'Weasley office—champagne flutes, disposable' to his mental list of next year's Yule Gifts, and resolved to update the list in his office at the next opportunity.

The dynamics of the interactions had shifted markedly since they had arrived at WWW, Ltd. No doubt Draco's unexpected appearance was a large part of it, since Lucius suspected that the only reason that Harry had come in the first place was his hope of seeing Draco. Also, it was apparent that the twins had a plan already in place and had just been waiting for the right moment to go into action. Then, wonder of wonders, Marcus Flint had briefly abandoned his usual demeanor of snarling, kicked puppy and actually spoken up in defense of a man he knew was roundly hated by his owner. Now, rather than just sitting at Harry's feet, enduring regular cuffs at Harry's whim, Flint was moving about the room doing an excellent job of keeping everyone's cup filled. If he paid special attention to Harry, well, Harry was his Master, after all.

And Harry? He was sitting there, relaxed, chatting about school memories with the twins, being pleasant and civil to Flint for a change; trying not to be obvious about his mooning over Draco and failing miserably. George and Fred were busily drinking their champagne and passing eye rolls back and forth between themselves, Lucius and now Wood over Harry and Draco. Lucius found himself enjoying the site of Draco, standing against the wall and staring at his feet. Frequently, he would look up; catch Harry's eyes, then both would instantly look away blushing. It was approaching the point of ridiculousness when George decided that it was time to move on.

"So, Harry, the records we gave you—they're the transcripts of Snape's testimony before the Wizengamot after the war."

Harry pulled himself back from oogling Draco's left nipple to answer. "All of it?"

Both twins nodded. George continued speaking, "yep, all three days of it. We knew you weren't there." Pointedly, he ignored Harry's snort. "But, we found out some interesting things that never made it into the summaries or the papers. Like Mr. Marcus here, for example," he reached out, wrapped an arm around the passing slave and gently pulled him close. "What he said earlier fits exactly with what we've read in Snape's testimony. Snape identified him, along with quite a few others, who only became Death Eaters because their families or loved ones were threatened with torture or death. Snape was able to get information from almost all of these 'volunteers' that he then passed along to the Order. Some of this was information that he couldn't have possibly known otherwise, so it helped protect his identity as the Order's chief spy inside Voldy's ranks. There's also a listing of people who Snape remembers being incapable of casting the AK, and this one's name" he gave the minimally-struggling young man another squeeze "is on it. So, Harry, your man here was indeed Death Eater scum, but he was OUR KIND of Death Eater scum."

"And your point is?" Harry asked in a small voice.

Fred sighed loudly. "Harry, we're not saying Flint here's an angel, but he's certainly not the devil incarnate. Honestly, we're not trying to tell you how manage your life…"

"Actually, as soon as someone says that, you know they're about to do that very thing," Harry interrupted smoothly.

George jumped into the breach. "Harry, for the love of Merlin, beating someone bloody raw just because someone else was a shitty teacher in boarding school is just wrong!"

"Harry, it's just not the you we've known and loved all these years. Can't you see that?" Fred asked.

"Maybe I'm not who you thought I was," Harry answered, refusing to look either of them in the eye.

An awkward silence threatened to last indefinitely until Draco spoke up quietly.

"None of us are who people thought we were back then, just like none of us are who people think we are now."

"Here, here," Fred said, lifting his glass in salute to Draco. He was seconded by his brother and Lucius Malfoy, who was a bit taken aback at the depths his son had just revealed.

George took the lead back from his brother. "Harry, we know how you feel about what happened to Draco. Isn't it possible that the Ministry has made not one error but several?"

Harry snorted ruefully. "Several? Try several hundred or thousand, and you'd be closer to the truth."

"Indeed," Lucius broke in. "Harry, we all know about Draco's situation, he's one case in point. Oliver is another, although quite frankly I find myself unable to be angry at the Ministry for what has clearly worked to my advantage." Lucius looked up and smiled fondly at his lover, who smiled back just as fondly. "The Ministry decided that Oliver was a Death Eater based on the fact that his live-in was a Death Eater, and kept all of her things at his flat. No one really cared that he was completely ignorant of her status, or that she had been keeping him under the Imperius curse as long as they had been together."

"Just for the record, that was the only way she could have gotten me to be with her," Wood interjected. "Uuuuuuh, what a cow she was!" and he shook briefly at the memory.

Lucius held out his hand for Oliver, pulling him down onto the chair beside him. "Quite so. At any rate, when Oliver's wand tested positive for Unforgivables, it was an open and shut case in the Ministry's eyes. They never even bothered to see if his wand carried any traces of another person's magical signature, which would have shown that she had in fact been using his wand."

"One of the advantages of _in absentia_ trials is that you never have a defending barrister to ask about little things like that," Oliver said sarcastically.

"Blimey, Wood! I mean, we had always wondered about you..." George said.

"…but you never, you know, seemed the Death Eater type while we were at school…" Fred continued.

"…when really it was the bint using your wand, and you stuck under _Imperio_ all the time! Bugger all, mate!" George finished.

Wood shrugged. "Pretty much. She cost me my Quidditch career and landed me in Azkaban, and I never even liked her. In fact, she probably hit me with the Imperius during a meet-the-fans event. The first time I actually 'met' her was when the Aurors arrested us."

"That must have been some meeting," Fred offered, and Wood nodded in agreement.

"You could say that," he said dryly. "I 'came to' with wands pointed at me, with this strange woman screaming and claiming to be my fiancé, and being told I was under arrest for being a Death Eater. I think I was actually in Azkaban before I really got a grip on what was going on…and by that time, it was too late to try to do anything about it."

"And our wonderful Ministry of Magic certainly didn't give a damn, did they?" Harry's voice dripped with scorn. "And after all the housecleaning we did after the war, they haven't really changed a bit, have they?"

"And that's one reason we wanted you to read Snape's testimony, Harry," George jumped in. "His testimony alone should have cleared at least a dozen or so…."

"…probably many more…" Fred said.

"…but the Wizengamot and Ministry oh so conveniently failed to consider it, no doubt because of its source."

Harry snorted his agreement, then bent to pick up the pack of documents. Before he could grasp them, however, Marcus was there to lift them into his hands.

"Allow me, Master," he said softly, his eyes downcast.

"Thank you, Flint", Harry said absently. His eyes were focused on the thick package of parchments but his mind already seemed far away.

"So, Harry…what do you think?" George asked.

Harry shook himself. "About what?"

"About us going into the potions business, git," Fred supplied helpfully.

"Oh, that." Harry took a moment to think, then shook his head. "Mind you, I'm not saying no…."

George and Fred both laughed at that.

"When someone says that…."

"…they're about to say no!"

"Prats. All I'm saying is that I'd like to see more before I make any kind of decision, either way." Harry finished.

"Logical."

"Reasonable."

"Very un-Harry-ish."

"Truly."

"Shut it, both of you!" Harry laughed at the twin's antics.

Lucius, recognizing an opportune moment, seized it. "Harry, Fred, George…can we agree to discuss this again some other time? When, hopefully, you," he nodded at the twins, "can have something more to show us? I'd like to see just what you…and Draco…can come up with."

"We can do that."

"Certainly…give us a week or so?"

Lucius smiled. "That would be most satisfactory, I think. And now, if you will excuse us, I believe that someone," he looked fondly at Oliver Wood, "was promised a trip to Florean Fortesque's fine establishment." Smiling, he rose and straightened his robes. He very carefully ignored the various looks and sounds the others made at this announcement. "Gentlemen, if you will excuse me…coming, Harry?"

"Of course, Lucius. SOME of us need to go back to the office and do a bit of work today, you know." Harry snarked.

"Ah, the burdens of the gainfully employed," Lucius sighed as he waved his farewell to the Twins and his son. "Merlin preserve me from such a fate."

Following close behind, Harry snickered, knowing full well just how hard Lucius worked behind the scenes, just so he could maintain his 'gentleman of leisure' act. "Oh, well…we can't all be born rich. Some of us just had to be born beautiful…."

Lucius turned, one eyebrow raised. His rejoinder, unfortunately, was blocked by the crowd that mobbed Harry the instant he stepped foot outside the shop. While the Weasleys did a wonderful job of keeping the vultures away from their friend in their own establishment, not even their vaunted reputations could prevent people from waiting outside in the general area of a Potter spotting.

"Lucius!" Harry called out. "Here…could you take Flint with you? I'll meet you back at the office." He held out Flint's leash to a shocked Malfoy.

Taking the leash, Malfoy gently guided the astounded Flint to stand beside Wood, well out of the way of the crowd surrounding Potter. He was about to turn and leave without giving Harry a chance to change his mind, when Harry said. "Oh, and Lucius? Treat him…like you would your own."

Lucius looked a question at Harry, who only nodded.

"Go…and don't take all bloody day, alright?"

Lucius smiled broadly. "Of course not…we'll see you in time for tea!" Ignoring Harry's "Lucius!" he turned and strode down the street.

**A/N:** well, now you know how Ollie wound up in a collar…didn't see that on coming, did ya? And who would have thought old Snape would actually have a spot of decency in him, at least for the family of one of his Slytherins. So…Harem Boy Draco…like? Hate? Don't care? Now the question is, how will Harry react when he reads Snape's testimony? Hopefully this chapter answered most of the questions that your reviews raised, and that you'll keep reading. The next chapter will be up in a day or so, assuming that nothing catastrophic happens.

**Next Chapter:** Harry has an epiphany, Dobby and Winky, and what those collars _really_ do….


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Harry removes his head from a dark and smelly place, one of the collar's functions is revealed, and Winky and Dobby have cameos. Plus, the formal uniform of the Potter house elves is finally revealed!

**Disclaimer: **nope, still don't own, still not making anything off of this.

**BY MAGIC BOUND**

_or_

_**Love Slaves of Diagon Alley**_

**Chapter 3**

Much later that evening, Harry Potter sat in his study at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. The transcript of Snape's testimony before the Wizengamot—some read in depth, the rest quickly skimmed—lay open on his desk.

Harry shook his head in exasperation at the stupidity, not to mention the perfidy, of the so-called leaders of the wizarding world. Despite the Veritiserum, Snape's testimony had been questioned, discounted, and generally ignored. More than one so-called 'expert' had ventured the opinion that, since Snape was a Potions Master, he must have found some way to counteract Veritiserum. This, despite the fact that no one could even begin to speculate as to what such a method might be. A potion, obviously…but this ignored the fact that illicit brewers had been looking for just such a formula for centuries, without success.

Of course, the first person that did invent such an elixir would immediately become fabulously rich just from the Ministry's purchases alone. After all, having the stuff around would be absolutely critical for developing a test for it, much less being able to provide it to the Unspeakables 'just in case'.

Harry carefully noted that no one had asked Snape about such a counter directly, while he was under the influence of the serum. Of course, that would have been either definitive proof or circular logic…or both. He shook his head…it was too late to be worrying about things like that. Questions like that were best put to Hermione…on the way out the door…with a running start.

Regardless, Harry was making the conscious decision to read the documents with as much of an open mind as possible. Viewed dispassionately (without actively loathing the person testifying), the information was shocking! Snape had 'told all', and if those fools in the Wizengamot had actually bothered to listen….

Harry sighed and rubbed his temples. It was clear to him that the Azkaban roster needed a through, impartial review, at the very least. Also, a few properly conducted trials…make that a few dozen…might not be amiss. And then…a careful review of the PACC program would need to be started under someone, NOT Dawlish.

And that brought Harry to a very uncomfortable place. If one assumed (and Harry was inclined to do so) that Snape had been telling the truth, Marcus Flint was just as much of a victim of the Dark Looser as Draco Malfoy.

Which meant that Marcus Flint deserved the same consideration that he, Harry Potter, had been all too willing to extend to Draco Malfoy.

Which meant that he, Harry Potter—in treating Flint worse than something he would scrape off his shoe—had behaved abominably towards the man. He had done things that, had he seen them being done to a house elf, would have driven him to flog the miscreant to within an inch of their misbegotten lives.

Which meant that he fully deserved the flogging that his conscience was now administering to him, in spades.

Merlin and the Founders Four, what had he done?

Screwed up in a 'heroically spectacular, only Harry Potter could possibly manage to screw up like this' way, a little voice piped up in his head. Only you, Potter, only you….

Harry spent several minutes wallowing in self-recrimination and angst. Then he straightened and called out.

"Dobby!"

He was a bit surprised when, instead of Dobby, Winky appeared.

"Can Winky be helping Master Harry Potter, sir?"

Harry smiled despite himself. Ignoring Hermione's strident objections, Harry had bonded Winky to him, at Winky's request, following a brief negotiation. Winky insisted on being bonded, but asked permission to have children with Dobby. Harry had readily agreed, but held firm on paying each of them two galleons a week (Winky had argued him down from five). They had been the first of a staff that now included over a dozen other elves ('orphaned' by the war and wasting away for lack of a Master), and assorted humans that managed his properties for him. The hardest part, Harry had come to realize, was in convincing them that providing them with uniforms (mostly to make them look presentable) was NOT the same as giving them clothes. Of course, he should have realized that house elves were color-blind and fashion-challenged before he allowed them to design said uniforms.

The bearskin hats he didn't mind…except that they were electric blue, and clashed with the lime green coats, yellow waistcoats and deep purple pants. Oh well, at least the gloves and shoes matched…pink, but they matched.

Fortunately, he had decided to make that the 'formal' uniform of Potter elves, and convinced his elves to wear something a bit more subdued for 'every day' outfits. A brief memory flitted through Harry's mind of his first, despised formal dinner after kitting the elves up in their new finery. The most enjoyable part of the evening had been watching his guests try not to stare at the proud elves in all of their glory. Now, though, Winky was wearing a tasteful dark green one-piece with gold piping.

"Oh, hello, Winky. Is Dobby alright?" Harry asked.

"Master Harry Potter sir is being too kind to ask, but Dobby-elf is fine, sir." Winky replied. "Tonight is being Dobby-elf's night for minding the elfettes while Winky is polishing the silver. Missy Grangy says that Dobby-elf must be doing his part with elfettes and not just leave it all to Winky." The tiny elf leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. "Winky and Dobby-elf is not having the heart to tell Missy Grangy that all elves is helping take care of the elfettes…we is thinking that it is just easier that way."

Harry smiled warmly. "That was very smart of you, Winky. I promise I won't tell Hermione."

Winky nodded solemnly. "Master Harry Potter sir is being a wise wizard. Now," she said, all business, "what can Winky be doing for Master Harry Potter sir?"

"Could you please have Marcus Flint come here? And then, fetch me some Scaradicate Salve from the first aid kit."

Winky nodded and disappeared with a pop. Harry couldn't help but think how much better she was now that she was bound to him. As far as he knew, she hadn't touched a drop of butterbeer in months, and was the model of efficiency when it came to managing Grimmauld Place, Dobby, the other four elves that lived at Grimmauld, and four tiny, hyperactive elfettes. Winky was the unquestioned Mistress of the household, and Harry knew just how lost he would have been without her. Of course, the fact that Master Harry Potter sir routinely tried to spoil her elfettes, sneaking them treats while their mother wasn't looking was something that she 'officially' had to object to…but Harry wasn't fool enough to think that he would have stood a chance against a seriously angry house elf.

Flint entered the study, his eyes downcast as was proper. Harry didn't have to see his face, however, to feel the tension radiating off of the man. Well, Harry couldn't really blame him for that, now could he? After all, how many times had Flint been summoned to a beating by one of Harry's elves? Most of the time, for no other reason than Harry Potter was in a bad mood and Marcus Flint was available.

All right, Harry thought. Enough beating myself up…time to start doing something useful for a change. Quietly, he spoke. "Take off your harness and lean against the wall, Flint…you know the position."

Wordlessly, Flint complied. He did indeed know the position all too well…it was one of Harry's favorite whipping positions, with him leaning forward, bracing his hands against the wall. Harry had remarked that it 'kept his worthless carcass relatively still', and the one time he had collapsed from the pain, Harry had just kicked him as he lay there before stalking off. The elves that had come in later had been quietly efficient but mute as they tended to him. Their binding enchantments prevented them from speaking or acting against their Master, but Flint had the impression that some of them found it…odd…that the same Master who was so unfailingly good and polite to them should treat him in such a fashion.

Winky followed Flint into the room with the requested jar of salve. Handing it to her Master, she paused in thought. Something was different this evening. Master Harry Potter sir had never tended to his slave, always letting his elves do that for him. Also, Winky thought that Master Harry Potter sir felt…sad? She knew that humans were far too…different…from house elves ('crazy' was not a word used for their masters by proper elves) to ever be fully understood, but still…something was different this night.

"Thank you Winky, that will be all. I'll call you if I need anything more."

Dismissed, Winky popped away. There was still more silver in need of a good polishing!

* * *

Harry Potter paused and looked…really looked, for the first time, at the man leaning against his study wall.

What he saw made his gorge rise.

Fighting it down, he walked over to Marcus Flint, conscious of just how vulnerable the man appeared. He winced when he reached out to the scarred back before him and the man flinched at his touch. How had he reached this point, he wondered?

Quietly, he opened the jar of salve and scooped some on his fingers. Looking at the wreckage of flesh in front of him he winced again, then steeled himself.

"Don't move." Harry said, more harshly than he intended.

"No, Master," Flint replied, bracing himself for the first blow. Despite this, he jerked as he felt the first cold touch against his skin.

"I'm sorry, Master," Flint began to apologize, not understanding what was happening.

"Easy, Flint…it's just Scaradicate, I'm not going to whip you…" Harry whispered. "I'm…sorry, Flint…I'm never…ever…going to hurt you again."

"Ma…Master?" Flint stammered, shocked. He remembered the events of earlier in the day, of course, but never expected this…whatever 'this' was.

"Hold still…this will take me a minute."

"Master?" Flint couldn't believe what was going on. Gentle fingers massaged the tingly salve into his savaged back. Not knowing when those fingers might choose to take up a whip or cane again, he stood shock still, barely daring to breathe, much less move.

Eventually, Harry had covered his slave's entire back with the lightly scented ointment. "Alright, Flint…straighten up. I'm going to do the back of your legs now, so you may need to shift a bit. Don't be afraid…it's just scar removal cream."

Dumbly, Flint nodded. He was still too uncertain, too afraid of what might happen if he spoke. Instead, he concentrated on being as still as possible while his Master worked.

Finally, Harry stood from where he had been kneeling behind his slave. Turning Flint with gentle pressure on his shoulders, he asked. "There…how does that feel?"

"Fine, Master..." Flint whispered.

"Tingles a bit, I'd wager," Harry said.

"Yes, Master."

Harry sighed. This was proving to be just a difficult as he had thought it might. Fortunately, he was almost finished with the salve. Of course, the fact that he was almost finished reflected his preference for only whipping Flint on his back and not both sides. Wincing at himself, but grateful for small favors at this point, he ordered Flint to hold out his arms.

"Yes, Master," was his quiet answer. Harry noted that Flint refused to meet his eyes. Oh well, something to work on after the scars were taken care of, one thing at a time.

"I think it'll be easy to finish your arms…but I'm afraid I'm about out of salve, and it's too late tonight to get any more. Why don't you go shower off, then come back here and we'll talk."

Unable to quite believe what was happening, Flint just nodded. His bare feet were soundless on the floor as he left the room, headed for the small servant's room he had literally been thrown into on arrival at Grimmauld Place. Quickly he stripped off his loincloth and washed off the congealing salve. When he exited the bath, he was surprised to find Winky there waiting.

"Master Harry Potter sir says for Winky to tell Flint to be dressing in this, then join him in his study," the little elf squeaked. Flint's eyes went wide as he saw the simple robe laid out for him. Hesitantly, he slipped the garment on, the feel of soft cloth odd on his skin after months of near-nakedness.

Not wanting to keep his Master waiting, Flint ran a brush through his still-damp hair and hurried to the study. He was only mildly surprised to see Harry sitting there, staring into a roaring fire.

Harry looked up when Flint entered. "Come, Flint…sit here." When Flint made to sit on the floor, Harry gently pulled him up. "No, not down there…here, on the couch with me."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," Flint stammered. "Please, I don't want to displease you, Master," he began, only to be cut off by Harry's wave.

"Stop apologizing, Marcus. In fact, I'm the one who needs to apologize to you. I'm sorry…deeply sorry for the way I've treated…mistreated you these last few months." Ignoring his gobsmacked slave, Harry pressed on. "You've never given me any reason, other than breathing," he paused, grimaced, "any real reason to be so horrible to you."

Flint sat, immobile, his face expressionless as his Master took a deep breath and continued.

"The Twins were right today, about a number of things. I've read some of Snape's testimony, and you were right…all of you were right." Harry trailed off, looking down at his hands and shaking his head.

Marcus Flint waited a moment, then surprised himself by reaching out to gently cover Harry's hands with one of his.

"Master…" he started, then Harry interrupted, looking up.

"No. Harry…call me Harry."

"H…Harry?" Flint hesitated on the name, but let out the breath he didn't know he was holding when Harry gave him a weak smile.

"Yes, Harry…Marcus." Harry's smile faltered a bit. "While we're here, or somewhere else private, it's just Harry. We can't risk…I won't risk…anyone calling you on your behavior to try to get you whipped, so while we're in public…" he shrugged. "Well, you know the drill."

"Thank you, Harry," Marcus replied, nodding. He was still rattled by the sudden change in his Master.

"No, Marcus…don't thank me yet. I swear to you that you'll never be whipped again, no matter what it takes…but as long as those stupid laws are on the books, we'll have to pretend to play along. Hopefully, it won't be long." When he finished, Harry Potter's eyes were blazing, and Marcus Flint found himself leaning back. He was all too familiar with Harry's anger, but this was the first time he had seen his Master that intent on…what?

"I'm sorry, Ma…Harry," he stammered. "I don't understand, please…."

"No, Marcus, don't apologize to me, please…I don't think I could stand it," Harry said gently. "What I meant was, I'm going to do everything I can to get this idiotic PACC law—and all the other stupidity the Wizengamot's perpetrated since the end of the war—changed. That starts with me treating you decently, if you'll let me?"

At Flint's cautious nod, Harry smiled more warmly and went on. "I don't blame you for not believing me right now…Merlin knows I probably wouldn't, in your place…but tomorrow I'm taking you to St. Mungo's and you're going to be completely, fully healed of everything they possibly can manage…everything that I, or the Ministry, or the Dark Moron, or anyone else has done to you the last horrible years, I swear to you, if it can be undone, it will be!"

Shaken to his very core, Marcus could only nod his understanding.

"Then," Harry went on, "we're going to see about getting you something decent to wear, both around here and in public. I know that your 'outfits' aren't very comfortable…I noticed what Lucius did in the shop today, don't think I didn't…and I'll be doing the same things until we can buy some new ones. Like the whole 'submissive' act, we'll have to keep up appearances in public," Harry shrugged, and Marcus found himself grinning, "but here at home, we'll see about getting you some robes…and some underwear…and some trainers. I've seen quite enough of your ugly bum, thank you," Harry gave Flint a warm smile, and Marcus grinned even more. Maybe this was, at long last, the Harry Potter he had heard people rave about. Well, if his time as a slave had taught him anything, it was to enjoy anything good for as long as it lasted.

"Oh, another thing…I hereby order you to tell me when I'm being a prat, or a wanker, or anything like that, understand? Only in private, of course…" Harry finished slyly, with a wink that did more than anything else to reassure Flint.

"Yes, Master…I'm to tell you when you're being a prat." When Harry nodded, Flint threw caution to the winds. "So, H…Harry…now that you've given me a full-time job, do I get a raise?"

Harry started, then gave Marcus a stern look. "You, Mr. Marcus Flint, are going to fit in well…to well, I'm afraid. I think I may have created a monster…."

Flint, buoyed by a savage happiness, just grinned smugly at his Master. If this was truly the way things were going to be from now on, then perhaps Oliver Wood hadn't been lying to him after all.

That brought up something else. Flint had a strong suspicion about Harry, and he probably would never have a better chance to find out.

"Master…Harry…I thank you, truly…and if it matters, I forgive you." He smiled, hoping against hope that he would be believed.

Harry's eyes brightened with unshed tears. "No, Marcus…don't forgive me so easily, please…not yet. Just wait, please…I can't undo everything overnight, but with Lucius' help, and the Twins, and other people we can rely on…." He stopped when Flint put two fingers gently over his mouth.

"Harry." That one word was enough to quite his Master. "Believe it or not, I understand the desire for revenge. I won't lie to you…you were a horrible, awful master, but I knew why. I might not have agreed with you, but I understood the reasons why. I also know that you don't say things like you've just said to me without meaning them…all of them. If you say that you believe me, and Severus," and Harry nodded as Marcus used the Potion Master's given name, "then I believe that you believe me. I also believe that you mean it when you say you're going to try to set things right, as best as you can. But, I also know just how stupid and unfair life can be, and I won't blame you for failing…as long as you keep on being decent to me."

Harry grimaced at this last but nodded in understanding. He was more than a little shocked at how readily Flint had apparently forgiven him. Was it part of the magic imbedded in that damned collar? Something else he'd have to discuss with the Twins in the next few days….

Seeing that he wasn't being stopped, Marcus took another deep breath and calmly continued. "And…I'd like to show you how sincere I am, if you'll let me. I don't know what you like, my Lord," his voice quivered despite his best efforts. "But, if you will tell me how I can best satisfy you…I am yours to command." He shifted slightly, so that his robe fell open slightly, giving Harry a view of his nakedness under the garment.

Harry Potter looked down at the hands resting on his, and made no move to look anywhere else. "Flint…Marcus…I'm flattered, believe me, but…" he looked up, directly into Marcus' eyes. "You and Snape were more than just friends, weren't you?"

Marcus Flint whipped his head away from that penetrating gaze, blushing furiously. When Harry's fingers gently took his chin, he tried to resist them before finally giving in, letting Harry turn his head back to where they were again eye to eye.

"Yes," he whispered. How had Potter known? Then, in a flash, Marcus realized that Harry Potter had known since the day he bought Flint at auction. Before then, obviously. That explained so much…the lack of any sexual demands on him, the rare occasions when they had encountered Snape in Diagon Alley (oh, Marcus had hated those times, since they invariably led to a public caning). Of course, Flint had been aware that Potter had been using him, Marcus, to repay his former professor for the torments Snape had inflicted during Potter's Hogwarts years. He would have had to be several different kinds of dim not to realize that. Still, it explained why the pair had not seen Snape for several months…Snape had realized what was happening and taken steps to mitigate his torment at Potter's hands as much as possible! It all made a cruel, twisted sense, in hindsight.

Marcus Flint felt his anger rising. Potter, that complete bastard! Using him as a whipping boy, a surrogate for his hated professor. Potter couldn't have Snape beaten, so why not the next best thing? Have Snape's lover, who he had publicly snatched away from the man, beaten in his stead. Oh, that was truly a Slytherin thing to do, all right…a beautiful revenge, petty but beautiful, and all completely, totally, utterly legal and aboveboard! Why, if he could only….

A wave of lassitude and gentle feelings engulfed Flint, and he felt himself smiling gently. Of course, Potter had asked forgiveness, and promised to do better…wasn't that enough? He would believe in Harry, who had been so nice to him this evening…wait, Harry was just looking at him strangely….

"Marcus? I don't want to upset you, but I need for you to answer me truthfully. All right? Just tell me the truth, and I promise you that I won't be angry, or punish you in any way, understand?"

When Marcus nodded, Harry asked gently. "Just now…were you starting to feel angry at me, when you were thinking about Snape, and how I used to treat you?" Harry looked at him carefully.

Calmly, Marcus searched his feelings, then nodded.

"Shite! I should have known, it's got to be that bloody collar!" Harry surged off the couch, leaving a confused Flint seated. "It's got to be loaded with some twisted version of a cheering charm, and Merlin only knows what else." Spinning, he turned back to his slave.

"Marcus, I swear by all that's holy I will find a way to get that damned collar off of you! You ought to be hating me right now, but it won't even let you do that! Damned Ministry! Damned fools!" Harry Potter raged around the room, his magic making objects in the room dance. A pair of popping noises heralded the arrival of Winky and Dobby.

"Master Harry Potter sir! What is happening? The elves is feeling the house shaking, and Master Harry Potter sirs magic is all over the room! What can Dobby and Winky-elf do?" Dobby was shouting over the rumble of the house.

Almost immediately, Harry calmed. As he did, the house settled again and the room became still.

"I'm sorry, Dobby; sorry, Winky…I just got very angry, that's all. I'm alright now, I'll try to stay calm."

Winky nodded sagely, then squeaked. "Winky will go make tea for Master Harry Potter sir, while Dobby-elf stays here," and she popped away. Dobby just stood there, wringing his hands and looking at Harry anxiously.

Noticing the effect he was having on the elf, Harry gave a tight smile. "I'm all right Dobby, really. I was just angry at…at Marcus' collar, you see."

Dobby nodded. "Dobby understands, Master Harry Potter, sir…when a wizard as great and powerful as Master Harry Potter sir becomes angry, their magic gets loose and makes the house shake. Master Harry sir is a powerful wizard, his magic made the whole street shake with his anger."

Harry winced. "Was it that bad, Dobby?"

Dobby shook his head rapidly. "Oh yes, sir. Master Harry Potter's magic was felt all up and down the street just now! Master Harry sir must have been very, very angry!"

Still wincing at what he had done, Harry nodded his agreement with his elf. "I was indeed very angry, Dobby."

"Which is why Master Harry Potter sir should be sitting down and letting Winky be pouring him his tea," Winky said, popping back. The tea service floated itself gently to the table in front of the divan, and Winky stood there, hands on her hips. "Master Harry Potter sir is to be remembering that there is elfettes in the house, and that he should not be upsetting them by making the house shake," she said primly.

Sitting, Harry gave Winky a weak smile. "I know, Winky, I'm sorry, I'll try to do better…I seem to be saying that a lot tonight, for some reason."

"Hmph. Well, Master Harry Potter sir should be knowing better…he should call Winky and be asking for tea before he lets himself being so angry," she sniffed.

"As usual Winky, you're absolutely right. Thank you," Harry said, taking his cup. "Please, before you go, would you pour for Mr. Flint, as well? Thank you."

Seconds later, Harry and Marcus were alone again, both with steaming cups of tea. Harry noted that Winky, as always, had laid out biscuits, scones, bread and butter on the tray. Amused at the efficiency of the little elf, he waved Marcus toward the food.

"Again, Marcus, I'm sorry…have something, Winky gets upset if nothing's eaten…I suppose I should be glad for the chance to show you I'm serious while that collar is in place, but dammit!" He pounded his fist onto his knee, spilling his tea.

Without a word, Winky popped in, dabbed at the spill with a towel, refilled Harry's cup, draped a clean towel over his knee, gave Harry a repressive look, and popped out.

At the look Winky gave her Master, Flint giggled. Then, when Harry noticed that he was being giggled at, Harry started snickering. In a few minutes, both of the young men were laughing together. When both of them put their cups on the tray to keep from spilling them, they fell into each other laughing.

Presently, they calmed down enough to sit up again. Wiping his face, Harry handed Marcus his cup before retrieving his own.

"Well, I suppose we both needed that. Bless Winky, I don't know what I'd do without her."

Marcus could only nod his agreement, but then he had to ask the question that had been burning in his mind for several minutes. "Harry…that…thing with the shaking. That was you?"

Harry sighed, then nodded. "Afraid so. It hasn't happened in a while, but I just got so angry at the thought of what that collar was doing to you…." He shrugged as if to say 'what can I do?'

Marcus nodded. "But…my collar? Please, I know that you don't like it, but why? Just now, I mean. I've been wearing it for ages, and it never bothered you before."

"It never bothered me before because I was a stupid, awful git, that's why." Seeing that didn't satisfy his slave, he continued. "Marcus, you have every right to be absolutely furious at me, and hate me completely, for what I've done to you as well as to Snape, through and on you. Instead, I saw you start to have some real emotion…and then quicker than you can say 'finite', those emotions just drained away. It's not real, or natural to forgive me so quickly, but you did. Don't misunderstand, I'm grateful that you have—or at least, you think you have, because of that sodding collar—but I'm going to get if off of you, one way or another. In the meantime, though…I'm going to prove to you that I'm well and truly sorry for what I've done. And, I'm going to make amends as best as I possibly can."

"I believe you, Harry…and I think I'm glad, too. I like being with you like this. I just wish we could have been like this from the start." Marcus smiled. Even though a part of him knew it was artificial, part of his enslavement, he liked this Harry Potter very much. So much so that….

"I meant what I said, Harry. If you'll only tell me…or show me…how to please you, I'll do my best for you." Flint looked up hopefully.

"No, Marcus," Harry said gently. Then, when he saw the look of confusion and hurt on Flint's face, he hurriedly added, "I think…no, I know…that you and Snape care for each other?" Despite his words he made it into a question.

Marcus nodded minutely. "We did. It was so hard, with the other Death Eaters always around. It's funny" he mused, "when I was in school, I respected and admired Severus…only he was 'Professor Snape' then. It was only after I graduated that I had any idea that he…or rather, he and I," he stopped, blushing.

"It's alright," Harry soothed. "I know. Believe me, I know." He sighed.

"You and Draco?" Marcus dared to ask.

Harry looked up sharply, then relaxed. "Yeah. Was it that obvious?"

"Of course." He snorted. "Even a pair of Gryffindors noticed, it was that obvious."

"Huh," was all Harry said.

The two sat in silence for several minutes before Marcus spoke softly.

"So, Harry…you don't want me to…?"

"No, Marcus…although I appreciate the offer, it wouldn't be right."

"I…see, I think."

"Yeah."

"So…Draco?" Flint asked again.

Harry looked so absolutely miserable for a moment that Marcus nearly hugged him despite everything. "The Twins bought him…" he almost wailed.

"So…you're rich, they're your friends…buy him off them."

"I can't!" Harry shook his head. "No re-sales within the first twelve months, don't you remember? Stupid Ministry." He just sat there, looking into his teacup as if it would show him a happy future.

"Snape didn't wait twelve months before he tried to buy me, did he?"

Harry growled, then grimaced at his automatic reaction to the name. "No, he didn't…and when I reminded him of that particular part of the law he made several very unflattering comments about how he didn't think the law would apply to 'the Man-Who-Saved-All-Our-Arses'."

At this, Marcus began snickering and—just in case—set down his teacup. "He really didn't call you that, did he?"

"He did," Harry said with a sour look.

"Oh, Sweet Salazar, no wonder you two don't get along," Marcus dissolved in a fit of giggles.

"I'm glad someone finds it amusing," Harry griped. He looked to Marcus like he was trying to stifle a grin, however.

"Oh, yes, oh Master-Who-Saved-All-Our-Arses!" Flint was rocking back and forth, holding his sides.

"Prat," was all Harry said. Smiling at his slave's antics, he calmly drank his tea and waited for Marcus' laughter to abate.

Eventually, Marcus calmed enough to speak normally. "So, oh Savior-of-All-Our-Arses," he dodged the pillow Harry threw, "where do we go from here?"

"By rights I should do something nasty to you for that comment, but I think I've already been nasty enough to you for this lifetime," Harry said. When Marcus started to protest, Harry held up one hand. "No, please…that would just be the collar talking, not you. It's the truth, and I truly regret what I did, but now is neither the time nor place to go around and around about it. Someday soon, though…you'll have your chance to tell me what you really feel," he grimaced in anticipation. "And I won't stop you. Merlin knows, what I did to you…" he shook his head. "To start, we go to bed…separately…and get a good night's rest. I won't be taking any more advantage of you, in any way. You have my word on it." Harry held Marcus' eyes until Flint nodded in understanding.

"Then, first thing tomorrow…St. Mungo's for you, and the office for me. I need to make some calls and write some owls. And, have several copies of Snape's testimony run up. And then…."

"Then we go back to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes for a visit?" Marcus asked.

Harry's brow creased in thought. "Well, I need to speak with them, of course, but I was just planning on talking to them by floo…."

Marcus made a rude noise. "Harry…you told me to tell you when you were being a prat…this is one of those times. You need to go to the shop…to see Draco." He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh." Harry said, blushing to the tips of his ears. "Well, I suppose…it would be easier, and more secure, to go there in person…."

"Harry! Go see your friends, and moon over the bloody boy while you're there, already! Now, before we get into an argument, can we go to bed? Please?"

"Alright, then! Winky! Dobby!" he called. Two pops later, Harry said, "Winky, Dobby, please tell all of the elves that Mister Flint is to be treated like a guest from now on…get him anything he wants or needs, alright?"

"Is…is Master Harry Potter sir being sure?" Dobby asked carefully. Winky just stood there, looking from Harry to Marcus and back again speculatively.

Harry smiled. "Yes, Dobby, I'm sure. I was very mean to Mr. Flint for far too long…I was just being stupid…but thankfully I'm better now. Please be careful, though…we can't let other people know that I'm not stupid anymore, or that Mr. Flint is now our friend and our guest, not a slave. Not for a while, anyway…but we only have to act like before when people are here, okay?"

"Winky is understanding, Harry Potter sir, and she and Dobby-elf will be explaining to all house elves about this secret," Winky said gravely. "Winky is being glad that Harry Potter sir has come to his senses," she sniffed in reproof.

"I'm glad, too, Winky…and I'm sorry that it took me so long. Can you help me make up for my stupidity with Mr. Flint? Maybe by being extra nice to him?"

Winky sniffed again, then grinned. "Yes sir, Harry Potter sir. Winky will be softening Mr. Flint's mattress and sheets and towels right now…and be making him some nice robes to be wearing…and a big breakfast every morning, and jam with his tea and biscuits in the afternoon…but he is not to be spoiling Winky's elfettes, or Winky will be getting very angry at him…and Harry Potter sir, too!" Tossing her head, she popped out, taking Dobby with her.

"Well, there you have it, Marcus. You can always get back at me by getting me in trouble with Winky."

Smiling together, Marcus addressed his Master…and hopefully, one day, friend. "Just remember that Harry, when I feed the elfettes my bacon in the morning."

"Oh, no you don't!"

"Watch me."

"Merlin help me."

* * *

Early the next morning, Harry Potter and his bond slave stepped into the floo room at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. A flick of his hand later, a now soot-free and immaculate Lord Potter strolled purposefully out of the room, trailed by his equally immaculate and perfectly behaved slave.

As they approached the Welcome Witch, it became obvious that it was just another boring day at St. Mungo's.

"Alright, I understand that your cousin was bitten by an acromantula, he'll be in the Dai Llewellyn Ward for Serious Bites. That's up the stairs, then follow the signs. Now," she said, turning to a wizard who was holding his left arm in his right hand. "Splinching accident? Fourth floor, on your left. Next?"

Marcus Flint smoothly stepped around one witch guiding another with a four-inch nose, ignoring the dark looks he received.

"My Master would like to see Healer Augustus Pye at once, please." He said confidently.

The Welcome Witch took one look at the skimpily (if impeccably) attired slave and sneered. "Oh, would he? Well, Healer Pye is an extremely busy man…I doubt he'll drop everything and run just because 'your master'," her lip curled in disdain, "snaps his fingers. Unlike _some_, Healer Pye is no man's slave."

Marcus' reply was cut off by the firm hand on his shoulder. "Marcus, is there a problem?" Harry asked clearly.

"No, Master," Marcus said, turning away from the Welcome Witch to face his master. "Apparently Healer Pye is too busy to see you today." Despite the humor dancing in his eyes, his face was a perfectly blank mask.

"Oh, he is, is he? Well, we shall have to see about that, now shan't we?" Harry purred. His own emerald eyes flashing, he twitched one eye at Marcus in the ghost of a wink and stepped up to the welcome desk.

"Good morning, madam." Harry said, then stood there in 'I'm much more important than you will ever be, now do what I want' mode. Not for nothing had he carefully studied Lucius Malfoy's mannerisms and methods of dealing with people.

"Yes, may I help…" the Welcome Witch began haughtily, the sputtered as Harry reached up and brushed his hair away from his scar in a casual gesture. "Oh, Merlin! L…Lord Potter! I'm sorry…I didn't recognize…"

Harry cut her off peremptorily. "Obviously. Now, as my man said, I'd like to see Healer Pye…immediately, if at all possible." He stood there, his own face masked, just looking at the flustered woman.

Nodding, the Welcome Witch pulled the cord behind her, ringing for an assistant. While they waited, Harry and Marcus stood off to one side. As always, Harry's name had drawn a crowd of admirers. However, this time Marcus was actively working to defend his master rather than being pushed into the background, which kept Harry from being crushed in the press. Fortunately for them, within a very few minutes a young witch was waving to them from the edge of the melee.

"Lord Potter! Over here!" she called.

Breaking free of his clamoring fans as gently as he could, Harry went over to her, Marcus trailing behind as rear guard.

"You called for me?" Harry asked, still in 'Lucius' mode.

"Yes, m'Lord. If you will follow me, I can take you to Healer Pye's office. He asked me to tell you that he will be along as soon as he possibly can."

Nodding his assent, Harry and Marcus followed the perky young witch to the fifth floor. Once in the healer's office, they only had moments to wait before the youngish man bustled in.

"Well, well, well, Lord Potter! What brings you here today?" he said, waving Harry to a seat in front of his desk.

"Hullo, Auggie…how have you been?" Harry sat, waving Marcus into the chair beside him. When Marcus went to sit on the floor instead, Harry caught his eye and nodded his head firmly at the chair. Somewhat anxiously, Marcus sat in the chair, carefully keeping his eyes downcast.

Augustus Pye narrowed his eyes at what he saw, thinking furiously. He and Harry had become close friends during the War, mainly as a result of Pye having to put the then-Mr. Potter back together again several times. After the war, Pye had been a direct beneficiary of Lord Potter's contributions to St. Mungo's, as Harry had specifically directed that Pye lead the effort to integrate more muggle techniques into the armamentarium available at St. Mungo's. Harry's money had bought suturing, casting, dressing and all manner of other supplies which were being adopted, albeit slowly, by healers other than Pye.

Now Healer Pye was seeing something different. He had been aware (but not terribly approving) of Harry's treatment of Marcus. Now, instead of treating the slave like something that he'd just as soon scrape off of his shoe, Harry was treating his chattel…well, like he'd treat anyone else. Certainly something had to have changed, but what?

"Harry, I must say that I didn't expect to see you today. Not that you're unwelcome, of course—far from it!—but still, it's not like you just to drop in. What can I do for you?" Leaning back and crossing his arms, he regarded his friend carefully.

"Auggie, I need a favor," Harry started, somewhat reluctantly.

"Name it," the healer immediately.

Harry looked down, swallowed, and then looked the healer in the eye. "Marcus here…I've treated him shabbily, as you know. It was wrong, and terrible of me, but there it is. I've just come to realize how wrong I was about…many things. Now, I'm trying to make amends." He stopped, marshalling his thoughts.

"I see." Pye sat there, waiting for Harry to continue.

"I want you to give Marcus here a complete examination, and heal everything you find," Harry said. "Everything, you understand?"

Augustus Pye nodded. "Very well. Should I notify you before beginning anything other than basic healing, or…" he trailed off suggestively.

"No." Harry shook his head. "Do whatever you think is necessary. I don't care about the expense, or who you have to get to help you do it…I want him to have the very best that you can do. And if you can't do what he needs here, find me someone who can…and get them on the way here." Harry's face was a study in grim determination.

"Of course. Now, it's going to be a few minutes before I can begin…I was in the middle of something, but when Harry Potter comes calling we normal mortals must put aside our petty concerns," he pointedly ignored Harry's snort, "but I can have him wait here until I'm done." Smiling genially, he turned to the other man. "Marcus Flint, isn't it? Well, then…is there anything you need in the next few minutes? Tea, perhaps?" Rising, Healer Pye came around the corner of his desk. "Harry, how about you?"

Harry Potter also rose, motioning for Marcus to stay seated. "No, Auggie, I've got to go to the office. I'm assuming that Marcus will be fine to stay here with you until I can come fetch him after you're done?"

"Certainly, certainly," Pye waved his hand. "He looks fit—despite how some people have treated him recently," he said, giving Harry a gimlet eye. Harry, in turn, had the grace to flush with embarrassment in return. "This shouldn't take more than an hour or so…if it does, I'll have someone floo you. You'll be at the office until then?"

"Yes, Auggie, at least that long. Just floo me and I'll come through. Just…please don't let him go anywhere alone," Harry said. At his friend's look, he quickly continued. "No, no, it's not like that…I just don't want him to have any trouble. If I'm with him, that won't be an issue." Harry's grim look told the healer that any troublemaker would have the troubles, not the slave. "And Auggie…"

"Yes, Harry?" the Healer asked as Harry headed for the healer's fireplace.

"Take good care of him, would you? He deserves it." With a whoosh and a shouted "Potter and Malfoy Investments, Limited", Harry Potter stepped into the flames and was gone.

Grinning, Healer Augustus Pye turned to the somewhat anxious young man sitting in his office chair. "Well, then, Mr. Flint. I can hardly do less than Lord Potter commands, now can I? If you'll wait here for a moment, I'll have some tea sent in, and I myself will return presently. Then, we can begin."

Still grinning, the healer left his office, closing the door behind him. Well, well, well…whatever has come over Harry now, he thought?

His day had suddenly become much more interesting.

**A/N: **So, do we all feel better about Harry now? Good. Seriously, did you honestly expect me (**_ME!_**) to not redeem him before the end of the story? Oh, and to the reviewer who called me a 'vicious woman'—you're half right. *snicker* Try again... *snicker*

**Next Chapter:** Just what will Harry do? How does Hermione fit into all this? How will the Ministry react? All this and more, coming in the final chapter. Well, the final chapter except for the Epilogue.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Okay, so I lied. Well, not really, more like changed my mind, and decided to break up the last chapter into two bites, one for today and another for tomorrow. It just works better this way, even though this chapter is a bit on the short side. This way, you only have to put up with Hermione in one scene in this chapter. Plus, you get more Harem Boy!Draco a day early!

**Disclaimer:** no change, still don't own anything.

**BY MAGIC BOUND**

_or_

_**Love Slaves of Diagon Alley**_

**Chapter 4**

The fireplace in the lobby of Potter & Malfoy Investments, Ltd. flared brightly and Lord Sir Harry Potter stepped out with grace and dignity. Long hours of practice with floo travel enabled him to exit a fireplace gracefully, as befitted his rank and station. Outwardly his expression was blank, businesslike…but inside he grinned to himself as he remembered just how awkward his floo exits used to be. Most of the time back then, he was lucky not to tumble out arse over teakettle, which would never do for a Peer of the Realm.

Nodding to the few smiling faces in the waiting room, including the pretty young witch Lucius had insisted they hire as a receptionist strode briskly into his office and shut the door. Judging by the waiting room, Perkins was doing his usual excellent job of managing the day-to-day affairs of the business, not that Harry had any concerns about that. Hanging up his traveling cloak, he sat at his desk, waved his hand at the teapot to set it boiling, and made himself a pot of Earl Grey. Disposing of this morning mail—once again, Perkins had acted with his usual efficiency, stacking up the mail neatly on his desk—was the matter of only a few minutes. The morning's immediate matters dealt with, he picked up his pen and began to write.

A short while later, he had several letters finished, sealed and ready for owling. Pushing a button on his desk, he summoned an office boy.

P&M, Ltd. had been considered radically progressive when they had first opened. Harry's insistence on such simple devices as call buzzers and interoffice phones had been regarded with suspicion by the average wizard. However, several of their clients had been impressed by the efficiency the muggle devices brought to the office, and now it was not uncommon to see the occasional muggle device in a wizard shop.

The office boys, however, were as ancient and common a practice as any wizard could hope to see. For centuries, the young men of the less affluent and prominent families had spent a year or two before their schooling began working as runners and fetchers in the businesses of Diagon Alley. In addition to paying them a small wage, it was thought to build their characters, provide them with an introduction to business, and help them begin forming the connections that would be so important later in life. In many ways it succeeded, which was why it had continued for so many centuries. When P&M, Ltd. had announced that they would be hiring a small number…well, the competition for the limited number of positions was just as intense as you might suspect. Everyone knew that being able to tell people that you had worked for Lord Potter 'back in the day' would always be a tale worth the telling.

"You buzzed, m'lord?" A young lad of ten, all smiles and energy, bounced into the room.

"Good morning, Toby, yes, I did. Could you have these owled for me?" Harry couldn't help but smile at the young boy.

"Right away, m'lord." In a flash, he was off, slamming the door behind him.

That done, Harry picked up his cell phone and pressed one of his speed dial buttons.

"Hello, Fred? Harry? Fine, fine…say, mind if I pop over for a few? Good…I'll see you in fifteen." Donning his cloak and calling over his shoulder at his receptionist, he was out the door.

* * *

It was closer to twenty minutes before Harry could fight his way through the inevitable mob to WWW. Once in the back, he tossed his cloak to one side and collapsed into a chair.

"Merlin and the Founders Four, I swear, one of these days…" he huffed.

George Weasley laughed at his old friend. "You'll do absolutely nothing, Harry. Face it…seeing you is the high point of their dreary little lives." He grinned at the dirty look Harry gave him.

Fred entered just then, followed by Draco, who was carrying a tea tray. "Whose dreary little lives, brother mine? Harry certainly doesn't have one of them, does he?"

"Oh, Little Lord Potter was just grousing about his adoring fans, nothing worth mentioning," George finished, just in time to laugh at the gesture Harry gave him.

"So, me lord," Fred got out around his chuckles, "how was your reading last night?" He sank into a chair across from Harry and motioned for Draco to start serving them. Once again, Draco was dressed in his harem boy outfit, except that today the chains were silver rather than gold, the silks were deepest green, and his diamond earrings had been changed out for emeralds. Slytherin colors had never looked quite so good, Harry thought to himself.

Harry was momentarily distracted when Draco's eyes met his, but then shook himself. "Interesting, to say the least…and not terribly pleasant for me, either. It made me reconsider a number of things," he finished grimly.

Fred and George just nodded, purposefully not commenting on the looks that continued to pass between Harry and Draco.

Harry sighed and accepted a cup of steaming tea from Draco. "Thank you, Draco."

"M'lord," Draco said softly, moving to stand out of the way of the Twins and Harry's conversation.

"I must say, you two didn't do things by half measures, did you? I didn't think that it was possible to get transcripts of sealed testimony before the Wizengamot, much less some of the other documents you slipped in near the back." Harry said.

"Well, Harry, you know the Ministry as well as we do. A sack full of galleons here, a sack full of galleons there…that's a magic all its own." Fred nodded his agreement with George's answer.

"Indeed." Harry sipped his tea carefully, mindful of the steam rising from his cup. "Well, regardless of how you came about them, they certainly opened my eyes to a number of things…some of which, I would have just as soon not been made aware of." For several long moments he said nothing, just sat, sipping his tea from time to time. The twins just sat with their own drinks, waiting for Harry to continue. Draco, for his part, merely stood out of the way, his eyes downcast.

Finally, Harry decided to go on. "Last night, I had a talk with Flint." He sighed, obviously uncomfortable with the topic.

"And?" Fred prompted gently.

Harry managed a small smile. "He's at St. Mungo's now…Auggie Pye is checking him out. I told Auggie to fix anything he found-anything at all—and call me when he's done."

"Mmm," George said neutrally. Fred said nothing, merely nodded once.

"I realized…" Harry sighed, then continued. "I realized that I had been as unreasonable with him as Snape was to me, for all of those years, and for no good cause. He's no more Snape than I'm my father, and to treat him the way I did…" he shook his head. "I didn't like being made to realize that I was no better than Snape." He looked up, his face dark. "I have you two to thank for that, you know."

Most people would have backed away slowly from one of Harry Potter's dark looks. The twins, however, weren't most people, and bore up under Harry's look stoically.

"I suppose, Harry…"

"…that the most important thing to know is…"

"…just what you intend to do about it now," George finished for the pair.

Harry shook his head irritably. "I've already taken the first steps. Last night, I used the last of my Scaradicate cream on Flint's back, then he and I had a long talk," Harry repeated. "He started to show some real anger towards me, and then, it was like someone had cast a cheering charm on him. His anger just seemed to melt away, like it was nothing."

Fred and George were both nodding at hearing this.

"That's the calming influence of the collars, all right," Fred said carefully. "As long as the collar is intact around their necks, there's a definite limit as to how much anger a slave can feel."

"Took sodding forever to work that one out, it did," George picked up the conversation. "Hardest part was figuring out just how and when to trigger the calming charms."

"Ummm," Harry made a noncommittal sound. The twins had just unknowingly confirmed what he had already suspected—that they had been heavily involved in creating the collars in the first place. Of course, as their investment broker he knew that a rather largish number of galleons had made their way into the brother's coffers from the Ministry, but for once, secrecy and security concerns appeared to actually have worked as intended. No one outside of the Ministry had known which wizards had been involved in the development of the slave collars or their manufacture, although it was generally assumed to have been done by the Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries.

"Well, that's interesting to know," Harry said. "But, what I really want to know is, what happens when the collar comes off? Will the slaves emotions come back gradually, or all at once, or not at all?"

"Well, now, that's the thing, isn't it?" George said, leaning back.

"Doesn't matter, does it?" Fred said.

"Since the bloody collars…."

"…can't be removed…"

"…once they're locked into place…"

"…there forever, they are…"

"…permanent-like, that was the idea, you see…"

"…if they can't ever be removed…"

"…and the tracking charms can't be altered…"

"…then there's no temptation to try something foolish…"

"…like escape…"

"…exactly, like escape."

"So that's why they can't be removed," George finished.

"Not even by the Ministry?" Harry asked casually.

"Not even by the Ministry," Fred stated firmly.

"How about by you two?" Harry narrowed his eyes as he watched the twins carefully.

"Actually, no, not even by us, Harry. You see, the Ministry made certain that several different groups worked independently on locking and protection spells for the collars, and used Unspeakables for the final "put-together". That way, no one outside the Department of Mysteries is supposed to know just how the collar's magics fit together."

"It was supposed to be a security measure. If only the Unspeakables know how the things ultimately work, then presumably only an Unspeakable could remove it."

"Hmm" was Harry's only response for a long moment. Then, suddenly, "Okay then, how do I take the damned thing off?"

Both twins started at the question, coming as it did right after they had explained (they thought) just why such a thing couldn't be done.

"Oh, come now," Harry laughed at their reactions. "Surely you're not going to tell me that you two haven't already worked out a way to neutralize the damned things so they can be removed?"

The twins looked at each other, shrugged in tandem and then looked back at Harry sadly.

"We couldn't, Harry," Fred began.

"We had to swear an oath on our magic," George finished.

"In fact, if you hadn't mentioned it first, we couldn't have explained it to you as well as we did," Fred nodded sadly.

"Oh…so it was one of _those_ oaths, eh?" Harry asked, comprehension dawning on his face. He had some experience with the deviousness of the Unspeakables, especially with regards to their skills in the precise wording of magical oaths. For better or ill, they tended to be the most competent people in the Ministry, which sometimes made life better for all concerned. Or in this case, from Harry's perspective, more difficult.

Both twins were nodding, relieved that Harry was so quick on the uptake. What they had said had come perilously close to violating their oaths, but Harry's prior knowledge of the collar's effects and position on the Wizengamot had protected them thus far. Not to mention that, in his capacity as a Peer of the Realm and destroyer of Voldemort, it could be argued that he had as much 'right to know' as almost anyone else in Britain.

"Well, then, I won't ask anything more," Harry reassured his friends. "No matter," he dismissed the subject casually. "Now, one more thing. About Draco…."

"Yes, Harry?" George asked innocently. While neither twin expected Harry to just drop the matter of the collars, they knew that he would be as good as his word and not bring the subject up with them again. Still, they knew full well about Harry's feelings for Draco, and weren't about to let him get by without taking a bit of the piss with him about it.

"I know that the law states that no re-sale of any slave is allowed within the first year following their initial purchase," Harry began, suddenly less sure of himself. He'd taken great satisfaction from reminding a certain Potions Master of this as he returned letters of offer, with his refusal. Not that the offers had ever stopped coming...

"Correct," George said, his face neutral.

"Except, of course, in the case of the death or bankruptcy of the original owner, in which case the chattel property in question may be sold at auction as part of a general settlement of the estate or bankruptcy judgment," Fred put in, helpfully.

"Of course," Harry agreed. "But, still…I'm assuming that you've also read Snape's testimony, and are aware of the…irregularities surrounding Draco's placement into the PACC program…" he trailed off and looked at the floor, embarrassed.

"We may have heard something about that, yes," George said dryly while Fred merely gave a single nod of his head. Considering the furor that Harry had raised over it, they would have had to be living on a very small rock in the North Sea for the past year to miss it.

"Well, see, it's like this…" Harry tried again. "While we were at Grimmauld Place…back before the end of the war…Draco and I, we…" once again, Harry couldn't finish the thought.

"Snogged."

"Shagged."

"Engaged in gratuitous aardvarkking."

"Made the Beast with Two Backs."

"Bumped Uglies."

"Played 'hide the wand'."

"ENOUGH!" Harry interrupted the pair before they could go any further, his face bright red. Glaring at both of the twins, he managed to grate out. "So, you both knew?"

Fred and George both snickered as they nodded.

"Mate, the entire Order knew, there just before the end," George said.

"Harry, everyone knew, and no one cared…after several of us had words with some of the others, that is," Fred said with a grin. "Oh, there were some that were upset, and were going to make something out of it, but when it was pointed out to them that you seemed to be more relaxed and happy than anyone had ever seen you…."

"…the impending demise of the Dark Lord at your hands not withstanding, mind you…."

"…the general consensus was to leave well enough alone."

"…or else…"

"…suffer our wrath."

Harry thought for a moment before he nodded. "That fits with the change in certain people's attitudes towards Draco, right before the end," he said quietly. "Your mother, and Ron, for instance."

"Mum was actually the easiest of the lot," Fred said quietly. "Ickle Ronnikins had to have the situation explained to him in very small words, but he eventually came around. It was Miss Granger who actually was the most difficult to convince to leave well enough alone."

"She wanted to confront you, and force you to break it off. That's why she wasn't around much those last few weeks," George confirmed.

"I had wondered about that," Harry said. "But, just before she made herself scarce we had a huge row about something stupid and inconsequential. I see now that she was probably just using that as an excuse to scream at me."

"Not that she ever needed much of an excuse to do that, now, did she, mate?" George frowned. The twins and Hermione had drifted steadily apart during the last year of the war, due mostly to her grating nature and tendency to scream first and think things through later. Harry remembered multiple times when she had berated the twins for what she considered the excessive lethality of some of their contributions to the war effort, only to be reminded time and again by Harry and others that wars are not won with tickling hexes and cheering charms.

Fred broke into Harry's chain of thought before he could become any angrier. "At any rate, Harry, when Draco went on the block, we decided to buy him."

"I know," Harry replied, only to be cut off.

"No, you don't, mate. You see, neither of us bought young Draco personally…"

"…instead, we decided that he would be a business expense…"

"…so in reality, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes bought the boy…"

"…which means that you, Lord Harry, are a part-owner of the ferret!" Fred smiled as he finished, his hand held out in a gesture of accomplishment.

Harry was gobsmacked.

"I…you mean…" he began, then shook his head, not believing.

The twins were grinning like madmen.

"Oh, yes…" George said happily.

"…indeed…"

"…so if you'd like to, say…"

"…some dull evening, when you've nothing better to do…"

"…nothing worth listening to on the wireless…"

"…no real desire to go out, as it were…"

"…found yourself rather at loose ends…"

"…have the boy come over…"

"…put him to work…"

"…make him earn his keep…"

"…dusting, perhaps…"

"…doing the windows…"

"…de-gnoming the garden…"

"…polishing the silver…"

"ENOUGH, ALREADY!" Harry roared, torn between hexing the pair and laughing with them. "Ruddy blighters that you are, I wonder why I ever put up with you," he grumbled.

"Because you LURVE us!" they yelled in unison, descending on Harry for a double-teaming hug fest.

"Gerroff, prats!" Harry resisted, finally giving in to the urge to laugh. "Gerroff!"

Backing off, the twins settled down and regarded Harry cheerfully.

"So, Lord Potter," Fred began.

"Now that you know, what are you going to do about it?" George finished.

Harry's attempt at a glare died aborning, and he sighed. "I think…" he began, then looked over at Draco, who was standing in the corner, face carefully blank and eyes on the floor. "I think I'd like a few minutes alone with Draco," he said carefully.

Nodding, the twins left the room, shutting the door behind them.

* * *

It was a somewhat rumpled Harry Potter than came out almost an hour later to find the each twin sporting a cauliflower in place of one ear.

"Oi, Potter, that was a rotten thing to do," George complained.

"Positively shirty, it was," Fred agreed.

Harry smiled calmly, not at all bothered by their whinging. "Oh, that little hex? It only works on people who are trying to use Extendible Ears in places that they shouldn't," he smirked. "I put it up with all my privacy charms now, didn't you know? The Ears are such a popular item, I just couldn't see not taking precautions against them. Of course, I'll never let the secret out…wouldn't do to hurt sales, now would it?" he asked innocently.

"Brother mine, I think we've been outflanked," Fred grinned.

"Out _pranked_, I think you mean," George agreed.

"Indeed."

"But on to more important things."

"You did leave Draco more or less as you found him?"

"More or less," Harry said, with a coprophagic grin. "He'll be out in a minute. In the meantime, I've got to be going. Auggie should be done with Marcus by now."

Wisely, the twins held back on giving Harry any more razzing about Draco…but they did get him to restore their ears before he left.

* * *

Harry floo'd directly from WWW to St. Mungo's, and this time there was no delay in him being escorted to Healer Pye's office. He had just finished a much-needed cup of tea when Auggie came in, followed by Marcus Flint.

"Well, Harry, we're done here, I should think," Auggie said, falling into his chair and dropping a folder onto his desk. "I could tell you what I found, and what I did, if you'd like…" he offered, only to see Harry shaking his head.

"Auggie, if you say you're done, you're done." Harry answered. "How is he…now, I mean?" he asked, a bit anxiously.

"He's fit as can be…now," the healer said, his voice tinged with reproof. "Quite frankly, Lord Potter, I found evidence of long-term mistreatment that, if I saw it being given to a dog, would have me thrashing the bastard doing it with my cane." His gaze was unflinching as he looked at his friend.

Harry dropped his eyes and nodded. "I don't doubt it," he said softly. "And I have nothing to say in my own defense. All I can do now is to try to make amends, as best I can," he finished, still not looking up.

"Well, you've made a good start of that so far," Auggie said, his voice now warm and supportive. "All in all, there's no permanent physical damage done…some deep bruising and scarring that you'd already taken steps to reverse, but no broken bones or frank internal damage. A few potions and charms, and he's as healthy as ever. Now, what I want to know is…am I going to have to do this again, or have you learned your lesson?"

Harry shrugged, then looked up grimly. "If you have to do it again, it will be to some other poor sod with an idiot for a master," he said. "Actually, I hope to be sending slaves to you in job lots…because I'm going to bring this entire PACC program to an end."

Auggie Pye sucked in a breath between his teeth and leaned back, eyeing his friend carefully. "Indeed," he said, then paused. "You realize that won't be easy?"

Harry snorted. "Probably not. When has that ever stopped me?"

"It'll destroy your political capital, most likely. It's a very popular program," Auggie went on, now playing the devil's advocate. It was a role he had taken many times before with Harry, when no one else would do it. Auggie, by virtue of the fact that he would be the one having to put the pieces back together, had no compunction against telling Harry just exactly what he thought, and making Harry face all of the possible consequences before he went haring off to do all of the impossible things he had done.

"Yes, and I should have stood against it from the start," Harry sighed. "But, it didn't involve me directly, and I can't say that part of me didn't relish the thought of giving a bit of hell back to some of the Death Eaters." Inside, Harry relaxed as he and his friend fell back into old, familiar patterns. During the darkest times of the war, when everyone else was depending on the Boy-Who-Lived to work miracles on a regular basis, Auggie Pye had been one of the very, very few to treat him as 'just Harry'…and to tell him frankly and honestly when he was being a stupid, idiotic, possibly suicidal berk…all as part of an insidious plot to make him, Auggie Pye, have to work his own miracles to keep one Harry J. Potter more-or-less alive and functioning.

"I think we can all identify with that," Auggie said, then smiled at Marcus. "Well, most of us," he grinned. He and Flint had talked at length during their time together, and Auggie had gotten most of Flint's story…and the reasons for Harry's recent change of heart…out of the young man.

"Some of use were just glad that we survived," Flint said quietly. "I know too many who didn't."

"I don't know anyone who can say differently," Harry said, looking at Flint and nodding. "But, the War won't truly be over until we finish dealing with its outrages…and the PACC program is one of those outrages."

"Very well. What can I do?" Pye said, rocking forward in his chair.

"Auggie, this isn't your fight…" Harry started, only to be cut off by his friend.

"Like hell it's not, Harry! Now, you stupid Gryffindor, shut your pie hole and let's think about this, shall we?" he groused.

Harry laughed, hearing familiar words once more. It was good to know that some things could always be counted upon.

* * *

Some time later, Harry and Marcus floo'd back to Harry's office, where Harry proceeded to create a whirlwind of activity. Within the hour, owls and office boys were darting all over the Alleys and greater London, bearing letters to solicitors and barristers as well as Harry's friends, associates and clients. The gist of these letters was simple: Harry Potter had made several startling discoveries about the conduct of the investigations at the end of the War, and he was not happy about the way these discoveries had been covered up at the time. The letters hinted at scandal, and malfeasance, and heads that needed to roll without actually coming out and saying just exactly what had been done, or by whom.

Predictably, reactions to these letters were not long in coming.

Harry was making notes for the press release he was planning to issue when his buzzer sounded.

"Lord Potter?" the secretary's voice came through a bit tinny, but her anxiety was still easy to hear.

"Yes, Wendy?"

"Dame Granger, from the Department of Magical Informatics, is here to see you."

Harry smirked, then winked at Marcus, who was standing off to one side sorting papers. "I don't recall having an appointment with Dame Granger," he said.

"No, sir, you don't…but she insisted that I buzz you anyway."

Harry decided to be merciful to the young witch. It wasn't her fault that he'd stirred the hornet's nest, after all. "Send her in, please," he said, rising as his door opened.

Dame Hermione Granger (Knight Companion of the Most Ancient and Honorable Order of the Bowl and Sickle; Order of Merlin, Second Class) had not aged gracefully either during or after the war. Her bushy hair had finally succumbed to a near-buzz cut, and already she had an impressive set of lines on her face. Harry knew all to well that her expression tended towards what was charitably referred to as 'pinched', and alternated with 'disapproving' and 'just bit into something sour". That she was the most brilliant witch of her generation was no longer a question for debate, but it was also well known that she was a hard taskmistress who refused to suffer fools, and enjoyed making fools suffer. For those hearty souls who managed to survive in her Department—mainly by meeting her nigh-impossible standards—she was a staunch defender and protector. Still, Magical Informatics had the highest staff turnover rate in the entire Ministry, by far.

While she and Harry had always been allies, their personal relationship had disintegrated some time before. For her to come to his office now did not portend well. Harry braced himself, knowing that this was inevitable, and almost certain to be less than pleasant.

"Dame Granger, do come in," he said, playing for the secretary. "Make yourself comfortable. Thank you, Wendy, that will be all," he said, nodding the secretary out. Taking his seat, he waved his visitor to a chair. "Tea, Hermione?" he asked, a small, neutral smile on his face.

"So you can have your human house elf fetch it? I think not," Hermione snapped, tossing her head and adjusting the folds of the elegant cloak she wore over her robes. Harry noted that she had apparently acquired a taste for custom-tailored wizarding robes, which was a far cry from the muggle jeans and casual shirts she had once favored.

"Yes, actually, Marcus does make an excellent cup of tea," Harry answered smoothly, refusing to be drawn. "Marcus, if you would be so kind, another cup for me, please," he pushed his cup over.

"Yes, Harry," Marcus answered easily, and smiled at Harry as he retrieved the cup. Harry returned his smile, then looked back to Hermione, who was scowling at him.

"All right, Harry, just what are you playing at?" she demanded. "Kingsley floo'd me not half an hour ago, demanding to know just what you thought you were doing, sending out letters intimating that there was a cover-up during the post-War investigations."

"So, you're here at the Minister's order?" Harry asked carefully.

"Don't be dim, Shacklebolt doesn't order _me_," she said, leaving unsaid the implication that, if anything, it was the other way around. "I'm here because _I_ want to know just what it is that you think you're going to accomplish. The investigations are over and done with, and those files are closed."

"Then perhaps they need to be reopened," Harry answered. He knew from long experience that the more calm he stayed, the more it would infuriate Hermione.

"For Merlin's sake, why?" It came out as the next best thing to a screech.

"Because, as I have just recently discovered, there _was_ a cover-up by our oh-so-honest-and-open-Ministry, and a number of pertinent facts were conveniently swept under the rug!" Harry fired back coldly.

Hermione calmed herself with an effort. "I see no benefit in reopening old wounds," she said, as if that was the end of the matter.

"_You_ see," Harry replied. "Pity, that, because _I_ see it differently."

The glare that came at him was easily as powerful as any curse Tom had ever thrown at him. "Oh, really? So, the great Harry Potter decides to reopen the entire post-War investigation, just because he wants to, and the rest of us are supposed to meekly nod and go along?"

Harry shrugged. "Pretty much."

"We'll fight you on this, Harry," she said.

"We, Hermione? Just who do you include in that 'we'?"

"The Ministry, and the Wizengamot, will not allow you to reopen the investigations willy-nilly."

"The Ministry and the Wizengamot," Harry said musingly. "What about Hermione Granger?" he asked sharply.

"I work for the Ministry now," she answered primly.

"And you'll be just following orders…shall I start calling you Madam Umbridge?" Harry asked sweetly.

"Honestly, Harry," Hermione exploded, making 'honestly' sound like 'damn you'. "What purpose could it possibly serve to reopen the investigations at this late date? We're finally getting to the point of being done with the aftermath of the War, and now you want to do this? No," she spat, shaking her head. "Neither Kingsley nor I…or any of your old friends in the Ministry, will allow you to do this."

"Because it might upset things, or embarrass certain people in the Ministry? How remarkably like Fudge and his cronies," Harry sneered, watching the shot go home as Hermione blanched.

"It's not like that and you know it!" Now she was screaming.

"I know nothing of the sort! I do know what it looks like!" Harry wasn't screaming, but he could make his voice cut through nonetheless.

"You can't win this one, Potter!" Now Hermione was standing, leaning over the desk to yell in Harry's face. As Marcus moved to intervene, Harry waved him off.

"Oddly enough, that's exactly what Voldemort said at the final battle," he replied, calmly smiling up at his former friend. "Had you actually been there, you might have heard him."

Her face purpling, Hermione whirled and dashed out of the room. Miraculously, the door survived the slam she gave it as she left.

"Well, that went about like I expected," Harry grimaced.

**A/N:** Now, why give Harry and Neville Orders of Merlin, First Class and only Second Class to Hermione? Aside from my hating her with a deep and abiding passion, she didn't fight at the final battle—she only did the research. So, her saggy bum wasn't in nearly as much danger as Harry's and Neville's, despite how important her contribution actually was. You don't stand on the front line, you don't get the First Class award—hate it for you, Hermione (but not much!).

**Next Chapter:** the last chapter (well, except for the Epilogue), in which everything is settled.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **And now, the end of the piece. More Hermione (I couldn't inflict two doses of her on you at once, which is why the last chapter was split off from this one), the Ministry's reaction to Harry's actions, and Harry goes right to the Top! Then, the end. Oh, and there's a bit with Snape, too. Alas, I have no Beta or Britpicker, so any and all mistakes are my own, please be kind.

**Disclaimer:** own nothing, wish I did.

**BY MAGIC BOUND**

_or_

_**Love Slaves of Diagon Alley**_

**Chapter 5**

Later that evening, Harry was sitting in his study, reading from Snape's testimony when the fireplace burst to life.

"Harry, you there?" Neville called out.

"Sure, Nev, come on through."

Lord Sir Neville Longbottom, Viscount Longbottom, Knight Companion of the Most Ancient and Honorable Order of the Bowl and Sickle; Order of Merlin, First Class, made it through the floo without landing on his Right Honorable arse.

Harry laughed at his friend. "Nev, we need to make some time so I can teach you how to do that without looking like a complete spazz," he grinned.

"Oh, shut it, you," Neville groused good-naturedly. "As if we'll ever have the time to do something like that ever again in our entire lives. How've you been, Harry?"

Harry waved his old friend to a seat. "Not too bad, Neville, not too bad. How're the expansions going?"

Longbottom Nurseries was fast becoming THE source for high-quality plant products in the British wizarding world, and Potter & Malfoy, Ltd. had facilitated a number of contracts for them over the past few years. One of the main reasons Harry had pushed for an expansion onto the Continent was to open up an easy export conduit for Neville's wares throughout Europe and the Mediterranean basin. Harry and Neville had also talked about sites for physical expansions, to take advantage of climates other than that of soggy old England. Neville was particularly keen on acquiring a winery or two in France or Italy, as he had become something of a wine snob and wanted to try his hand at growing grapes both muggle and magical. Harry, seeing a market for wine made from a Neville-grown grape, had already started putting out feelers along those very lines. In the interim, Neville was expanding his greenhouse space in England by something like three-fold, just to meet the demands that he expected to come from his business' growth over the next few years.

"Good, good…construction is going well, and we're negotiating a final price with the Goblins for the warding once that's done," Neville answered.

"Well, let me know if there's anything I can do to help," Harry said.

"I will, you know I will," Neville agreed. "Now, what's this letter you sent me today?" he asked, getting right to the point. "What kind of bloody business are you going to drag me into this time, Potter?" he mock-growled.

Harry couldn't help himself when he laughed. "Oi, Longbottom, never change! Between you and Auggie Pye, I'll never have to worry about getting the big head."

"Humph. Well, I'd say that Auggie and I have our work cut out for us," Neville grinned. He and Auggie were also good friends, Auggie having done more than a bit of work on the scion of the Longbottoms back in the day.

"I know, and neither of you would have it any other way," Harry said, completely and totally unrepentant. "I'm just going to re-open the post-war investigations, shake up the Wizengamot, and strew a goodly bit of the Ministry's dirty laundry from one end of Great Britain to the other."

"Well, if that's all, then, no worries," Neville chuckled. Then, he sobered. "Seriously, Harry, whatever you've already done has set the krup amongst the chickens. I've already had almost a dozen floo calls and letters wanting to know just what in Merlin's name you think you're playing at."

"I'm not playing at anything, Neville," Harry answered, just as soberly. "See this?" he asked, holding up some of the documents he had been reading. "This is Snape's testimony before the Wizengamot—every bit of it, and every bit of it done under Veritiserum."

Neville pursed his lips. "And…just what does that have to do with anything?" he asked carefully.

"It's got everything to do with everything," Harry said coldly. "I've skimmed the whole thing, and just from that, there's at least a dozen people who helped the Order from inside the Death Eaters. Plus, there's an entire roster of people who were forced to take the Mark, because Tommy and his merry band were threatening to snuff entire families if they didn't. And, to top off the whole mess, there's an entire other list of people, like Oliver Wood, who were convicted of being 'Death Eaters by association', who actually _were_ held under the Imperius, or were just at the wrong place at the wrong time." Harry shook his head, still shocked at the blatant incompetence of the whole mess.

Neville sat there for a long minute, saying nothing but regarding Harry carefully. Then, he began asking questions calmly and rationally. Occasionally, Harry would show him a particular segment of testimony. At one point, Flint was called in, and gave Neville an accounting of his time as a Death Eater, and related how he had also spied for the Order. Finally, Harry went over a list of the Wizengamot members that had been present during the testimony, shocking Neville with just how few of them had been replaced during the later purges of the group.

"Most of these idiots are still sitting members," Neville said, shaking his head. "Take Guinevere Hoyt, for instance. There hasn't been a Hoyt with the sense Merlin gave a murtlap in three centuries, but she's been nailed to the Family seat for the last fifty years…and her vote counts just as much as yours or mine," he groused. "I don't see her voting for acquittal a single time, not even when the case against the person was so thin you could read the _Prophet_ through it. You have to wonder if she really thought they all were guilty, or was just voting 'guilty' out of hysteria?"

"Who knows?" Harry shrugged. "And really, at this point, who cares? There's enough evidence of chicanery and blatant miscarriages of justice to warrant re-opening the entire investigation, from where I'm sitting. When this becomes public…"

"Don't you mean, _if_ it becomes public?" Neville interrupted…

"No, I mean _when_," Harry said grimly. "Technically, this should have been made part of the public record, and I've already got a legal team working on the whys and wherefores of it being sealed in the first place. Apparently, it was deemed 'too graphic' and 'too sensitive' for the public's delicate constitution, which is a complete load of rubbish."

"Especially considering some of the other things that the _Prophet_ was running on the bloody front pages," Neville agreed. Compared to the pictures of victims and the descriptions of what had been done to them, Snape's dry, matter-of-fact testimony was positively pedestrian. "Still, the Ministry and Wizengamot will both fight you on this tooth and nail."

"So I've already been informed," Harry said.

"Oh?" From Harry's tone, Neville could guess who had done the informing, but needed to hear it from Harry directly.

"Hermione just 'dropped by' my office today."

"Oh." Well, that was what Neville had been expecting. "And how did that go?"

"About like you'd expect," Harry answered, his expression saying far more than his words ever could.

"So…what else are you planning?" Neville asked, figuring that he might as well get all the bad news out at once.

"What makes you think I'm planning anything else?" Harry asked, looking away.

"Because I know Harry sodding Potter, and he wouldn't be kicking up this much fuss if all he wanted was a review of all of the Death Eater trials," Neville rolled his eyes. "Come on, out with it!"

"Oh, all right," Harry agreed, shrugging. "I'm going to get the PACC program tossed out, and see about pulling those bleeding collars off people's necks."

Even though he was braced and half expected it, Harry's casual pronouncement came as a shock to Neville. "I suppose you've thought about this," he began, then shook his head. "Of course you haven't, but you're going to do it anyway." With a sigh of resignation, Neville leaned back and regarded Harry levelly. "So…where do we start?"

* * *

As it so happened, Harry had already started it. His initial flurry of letters begat a swarm of returns, all of which he answered personally—with Marcus helping with the folding, addressing, and owling part of the operation.

One of Harry's first letters had been to Ron Weasley, Hogwarts' flying instructor, Quidditch coach and chess club sponsor. Harry had filled Ron in on his plans (well, at least a rough outline of them) and asked him to keep his distance. Hogwarts was a long way from London, and those hundreds of miles were the minimum distance required for Ron and Hermione to peacefully coexist these days. Besides, this was going to be a political fight of the kind that Ron had always hated, in no small part because he was so horrible at it. For all concerned, it was better if Ron stayed well away from this particular adventure; for once, Ron acted with a grain of sense and agreed.

As for the rest, Harry took pains to stick to the facts available to him: Snape's testimony had been certified as true and valid to the greatest extent that was magically possible, and yet had been ignored. His testimony contained evidence that cast tremendous doubt on a number of convictions, including Death Eaters who had actively worked to aid the Light during those last dark days. Since Snape (and select others) had been pardoned, the precedent was clear: others were just as deserving of pardons in recognition for their efforts. Consequently, Harry saw the need for a review, at the very least, of the verdicts in question. In conjunction with this, an explanation as to just why Veritiserum testimony had been discounted in such a cavalier fashion would need to be given to the wizarding public, for the implications if Veritiserum could not be trusted were too staggering to contemplate otherwise.

For some strange reason, copies of Harry's 'private correspondence' were leaked to the press, which brought his arguments to the attention of the general public. The resulting firestorm of interest in Harry's evidence was only fueled by the Ministry's strident denial that anything even remotely like Harry was alleging had ever occurred. The Ministry fired back, questioning Harry's source for the 'obviously faked' information, as well as his motives 'for casting these libelous aspersions on the character of so many of our fine citizens'. Harry said nothing, and stopped writing any letters on the subject.

Harry left it to others, among them one Neville Longbottom, to bring into question a deeper issue: just why had the Wizengamot been so slip-shod in these particular trials? Oliver Wood was one such popular figure that had been hustled off to Azkaban with unseemly haste, his trial little more than a rubber-stamping of the accusations presented by the Ministry. The question of Veritiserum use once again came up, as a number of the convicted had protested their innocence at the time, only to be refused the chance to testify under truth serum. Given the documented 'irregularities' with the Death Eater trials after Voldemort's disappearance in 1981, to have such egregiously sloppy procedures in these trials raised all manner of inconvenient questions about the status of wizarding justice in general—questions that a large number of people were demanding answers to.

Predictably, the Ministry at first ignored these accusations, then stonewalled, then demanded to know where Potter had gotten his information, then denied everything, then finally (after Harry had been forced to appeal to Her Majesty's Wizarding Bench, a special branch of the muggle judiciary that was aware of the wizarding world) produced a copy of Snape's testimony, which was published in its entirety in the _Prophet_.

While all of this was going on, 'various sources within the Ministry' made any number of statements to the press accusing Harry Potter and his allies of any number of heinous acts and intentions, including (but not limited to) fomenting insurrection and/or treason, plotting to destabilize the galleon, preparing to assist the Goblins in their next soon-to-begin rebellion, or even planning to take over the Ministry and proclaim himself Minister For Life. When Harry was confronted with this last rumor directly, he gave the quote that would probably the most famous thing he ever said:

"Take over the Ministry? Sweet Merlin, who would want the thing?"

It ran as the headline of the next day's _Prophet_ in 72 point type.

Lucius had a copy framed not only for Harry's office, but for the waiting room as well. He also heard through various sources that the international press had picked up Harry's words, and he was being hailed the world over. Shortly thereafter, a case of muggle whiskey (Maker's Mark®) arrived from American with another offer of citizenship, which Harry politely declined.

He kept the whiskey, though…to do otherwise would have been rude.

For several days, a number of furious maneuvers were carried out inside the Ministry and Wizengamot, as those who supported Harry (or just happened to have an axe to grind and saw this as the prefect stone to grind it on) fought to have a number of trials reopened, without success. While there was some disagreement as to just how they should be handled (opinions varied, but seemed to be split between appointing a special review board and retrying the lot of them), there seemed to be a general consensus that Something Should Be Done. Unfortunately, that was as far as it went, and several people inside the Ministry began to think that the whole ugly affair might just blow over, so that they could go back to business as usual.

Of course, Harry had pretty much expected as much, so he paid a visit to a good friend of his-a sweet grandmotherly type who had developed a certain fondness for the messy-haired Savior of the Wizarding World. She and her family had all taken a liking to Harry, who in turn had returned their feelings. He had begun supplying the family with healing potions on a regular basis—the great-grandmother of the family was getting on in years, and a potion or three here and there had taken years off the old girl. If it was technically bending the law a bit, well, neither Harry nor the family much cared about that, so long as the lady in question benefited from it. Harry had visited with the family several times before—there were two young men in the family who were roughly his age—and they, like Harry, had homes both in London and in Scotland. While none of the family were magical, they were all quite aware of the wizarding world, and Harry had remarked on more than one occasion how much he enjoyed the chance to be 'just Harry' when he was with them.

So, when Harry visited his friend, he had explained his actions, showed her his documentation, and asked her if there wasn't something she could do about the situation.

The Queen had not been amused.

Minister Shacklebolt had reportedly not been amused either, when the muggle Prime Minister contacted him to inquire as to just why a number of Her Majesty's magical subjects had been denied appropriate trials before being sentenced to durance vile, and some others had been condemned to slavery in all but name?

The Prime Minister had certainly not been amused, after his talk with Minister Shacklebolt. He had given the Minister two weeks to explain to him just what actions were being taken to address the allegations of impropriety in the trials of so many of Her Majesty's subjects, as well as reminding Shacklebolt that the Slavery Abolition Act of 1833 applied equally in both worlds (house elves being a special exemption in the magical clauses of the document). The Prime Minister demanded a full accounting of the process by which the PACC program had been allowed to develop, in blatant violation of the established laws of the land. It went without saying that the program would be terminated immediately. And, as to those wretched collars…well, the Prime Minister expected them to be destroyed, no exceptions, and the documentation of this destruction forwarded to his office without delay.

Kingsley tried to protest that most of the trials had occurred during the chaotic days immediately after the war, and that his administration was still dealing with the aftermath of that bloody conflict. He could certainly appoint a committee to review the trials that had been conducted, but to retry every case would not be practical or possible, given the resources available to him. He pointed out that the Wizengamot, not the Ministry, had actually served as the Court of Record in all of these cases, so the ultimate responsibility lay with that body and not the Ministry. As for the collars, well…that might present certain…difficulties.

The Prime Minister then made it clear to the Minister that he really didn't care about the Ministry's problems, or the Wizengamot's, for that matter. A review committee would certainly be a good start, and the Prime Minister was certain that the Minister wouldn't object to having at least some members of his administration sit on that committee. The Prime Minister then reminded the Minister for Magic that there were a fairly large number of muggleborn wizards that had left the wizarding world over the last several years, and a number of them were already working for the muggle government.

As for any difficulties with the collars, well…perhaps the Americans, or the French, or the Germans could be brought in to help the Ministry with their little difficulties.

Finally, the Prime Minister let it be known that the Queen was now personally interested in the functioning of the wizarding government and justice system, and had instructed him to undertake a complete evaluation of same, with a report being presented to her no later than six months hence. The Prime Minister was certain that the Minister would be extending his full cooperation to the team that the Prime Minister was assembling to prepare that evaluation.

"But, Prime Minister," Shacklebolt objected. "The Statue of Secrecy makes it highly impractical for your office to field such a team. I can assemble a team from Ministry staff without any fear that the Statue will be violated."

"Nice try, Minister," the PM responded. "However, there are already a number of muggleborn witches and wizards who already work for the Government in various capacities. Your world's loss is my world's gain, I'm afraid. No, we'll be able to put together a well-rounded investigative committee with no ties to your Ministry at all."

Faced with no other option, Shacklebolt had accepted the Prime Minister's demands with as much grace as he could muster.

Later that day, Dame Granger paid Harry a second visit.

"All right, Potter, you've made your point. Call off your dogs," she demanded, storming into Harry's office unannounced.

Harry looked up from the documents he was reviewing and nodded to the frantic secretary standing behind Hermione.

"It's fine, Wendy, I've got this," he said, smiling at the agitated young woman. "Why, hello, Hermione, how nice to see you. Won't you come in and sit down? Tea? Coffee? Hemlock?" he asked calmly.

Hermione just stood there, practically vibrating with suppressed anger. "I'll stand, thanks. Now, what will it take for you to call off your dogs?" she repeated.

Harry leaned back, outwardly as cool as ice. "I wasn't aware that I had loosed any dogs, Hermione. Now, Her Majesty, on the other hand…."

"Yes, yes, I realize that they're technically 'from Her Majesty's Government', but we all know who went to the Queen in the first place," Hermione snapped. "We also know about those potions you've been supplying the Queen Mother, in violation of at least four laws, and the Statue of Secrecy. I hear that Azkaban's lovely this time of year," she finished, her eyes narrowed down to slits.

Harry's own eyes narrowed at the threat. "If you want to try me for providing relief and comfort to one of the most beloved and revered figures in the country, go right ahead," he said. "A trial like that would go before Her Majesty's Wizarding Bench instead of the Wizengamot, since the matter involves not only the wizarding world but also the Royals." His grin dropped the temperature of the room by several degrees. "I look forward to hearing you convince the Lord Justices to send me to Azkaban for making the Queen's Mum's arthritis a touch better. Imagine how that will play in the _Prophet_, or the _Quibbler_," he finished.

Knowing a loosing issue when she heard it, Hermione tried another tack. "Harry, be reasonable. Kingsley sent me here to…."

"Wait, I'm sorry…did you say that the Minister sent you here to speak with me about having me interfere with an ongoing investigation by Her Majesty's Government?" Harry interrupted quickly.

"Well of course he did," Hermione bit out, then realized what she had just done. "Er, no, actually…I mean…" she backpedaled.

"Or is this visit—to convince me to interfere with an ongoing investigation—solely your idea," Harry pressed, leaning forward.

"Yes…er, no, I mean, I didn't come here to convince you to interfere…."

"Because, Dame Granger, I would be more than willing to testify under oath—or provide memories for Pensieve review, since the Ministry obviously no longer trusts Veritiserum—to that same Court, should they choose to bring charges against you and/or the Minister directly. I understand that obstruction of justice and interfering with a Governmental investigation are quite serious charges…but then of course, I'm not a solicitor or barrister. I just hire them in job lots," he said calmly.

Thoroughly caught, Hermione stood, fuming, for several seconds. Then, she cleared her throat. "Harry, let me explain what's happening…"

"Please do," Harry interrupted, garnering himself a bit more death glare before his visitor went on.

"We've got people from the muggle government all over the Ministry! They're going through every file they can find, making it impossible for any of us to get any work done! They're even talking about auditing each and every department, including mine! Some of them are even questioning our procedures…."

"Your Department, your procedures," Harry cut in.

"Yes, of course, my Department, and my procedures!"

"And these people, are they wizards? Witches?" he prompted.

"Yes, but…Harry, they're magicals who haven't lived in our world for years! Every one is either a half-blood or muggleborn who left our world to live as muggles. They have only the vaguest notions of our world, none of them current, much less how the Ministry operates or what we've done to improve the lot of all of our people!"

"You mean, what _you've_ done," Harry said softly.

Hermione waved his comment away. "Of course, what I've done. I'm organizing centuries of magical learning in a way that we'll be able to access quickly and efficiently. It's important work, and I won't have some foolish vendetta of yours interfering with it!"

"So, your objection is that the investigators are interfering with the Ministry, and your work, because it's so important that nothing else matters. Is that it?" Harry asked carefully.

"Well, er, yes, I suppose," Hermione answered warily.

"I see," was all Harry said, before he leaned back and regarded his old 'friend' thoughtfully.

Hermione stood there while Harry just looked at her. Finally, she couldn't stand the silence any longer.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Well what?" was Harry's answer.

"Will you stop this investigation, or not?" she grated.

"You assume two things, Hermione," Harry said softly. "First, that I have the power to call it off—which I don't, it's out of my hands now. And second, that I have the desire to call it off, which I don't. I'm sorry, you've come to the wrong person," he finished.

"I know why you're doing this, Potter, don't think for one second that I don't!" Hermione leaned forward, invading Harry's space as much as the desk between them would permit. "You're trying to get the collar off Draco bloody Malfoy, aren't you? You're willing to throw our entire world into chaos just so that you and your little nancy boy can go off and do whatever degenerate things you people do, just like when you two were at Grimmauld Place before…."

The harangue stopped abruptly as Harry made a circling gesture with his right hand that ended when his first finger touched his thumb. It was a gesture very much like a conductor uses to cut off an orchestra, and it quashed any sound coming from Hermione's mouth the instant Harry's finger and thumb met. Harry had picked up the little charm—a Continental variant of the good old silencing charm—during a business trip to Italy. It had the advantages of being silent, wandless, and powerful…and was difficult to reverse unless the target was proficient in silent and wandless casting, as well.

Hermione continued to rant and rave, albeit silently, her agitation growing as she proved unable to remove Harry's spell. Harry had suspected that would be the case, as Hermione had never shown any particular aptitude with silent casting for any but the most basic spells, and her wandless casting had never been much of anything. The truth was that Hermione, for all of her intellectual brilliance, was not a terribly powerful witch. It had been just one of many points of contention between the two friends over the years, as Harry had proved more than capable of mastering the most difficult spells while Hermione had trouble with anything much beyond the level 7 _Standard Book_. Up to a certain point, her brain had made her a stellar student, but once that point was reached…not so much.

Now, her somewhat less than average magic was totally incapable of ending a simple little hex…cast by one of the most powerful wizards since Merlin himself. It was yet another galling reminder to Hermione as to just who had the real power in the room.

"Hermione, I want you to think about what you just said to me," Harry was speaking normally, in a reasonable tone of voice guaranteed to infuriate the woman. "You do realize that you sound like Umbitch at her worst, don't you? I 'loosed my dogs', as you put it, because it was the only way I could see justice done for any of a number of wizards and witches, including Draco…and many others. From out here, it looks like you and Kingsley have been infected with the same rot that you both swore to clean out of the Ministry. And, the Wizengamot's still the same old, corrupt mess that it's been for decades." He sighed, ignoring Hermione's insistent gestures. "And now, you've come in here, made threats to me that Fudge would be proud of, and insulted me and my lover. Yes, Hermione, Draco and I were lovers," he said, his stare holding her eyes, "and will be again, if I have to tear down the Ministry and Wizengamot stone by stone. Rest assured, if I do, I won't lack for help in doing it, either."

Hermione did her best to match Harry stare for stare, but it wasn't Harry who was the first to look away.

"Here's one last thing for you to consider, Hermione. Listening to you talk about the people investigating the Ministry…how many times have you thought about them as _mudbloods_?" Harry asked, and then waved Marcus over. The young man had been cowering in a corner since Hermione had made her entrance, praying fervently that the two dueling titans wouldn't notice him.

"Marcus, our guest is leaving. Please show her the door," Harry said coldly, not looking away from Hermione, who was blushing furiously after Harry's last question. "She can find someone at the Ministry to remove the silencing charm, I suspect. I don't feel like listening to her anymore today, for any reason."

Marcus stepped forward and offered his arm, only to be shrugged aside when Hermione stormed out.

"You realize that she won't be able to floo, or use the phone booth to get back into the Ministry," he said, smiling.

"Do tell," Harry snorted, then went back to what he had been doing.

* * *

Some time later, Harry found out (and shared with Marcus) that Hermione had managed to apparate back into the Ministry, where she had gone straight to her department. From her written description, her staff had located the spell Harry had used in only a few minutes…and then all of them had tried, without success, to lift it. Finally, in desperation some two hours later, they had gone to get an Unspeakable when one of the Government's investigators read the spell and neatly broke it.

Hermione's thanks to the man were reportedly less than effusive.

* * *

In the end, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Hermione Granger both kept their jobs, but it was a near thing in both cases. The Prime Minister made no bones about the fact, in his final report to the Ministry, that he and the Queen had seriously considered dissolving the entire Ministry, firing the lot of them, and starting over from scratch. Only the fear that a new lot might be just as corrupt and inexperienced (as opposed to merely corrupt), and the purges of the worst elements by Harry and his friends after the war, stayed their hand. There would, however, be much closer monitoring by Her Majesty's Government in the future, to insure that the problems of the past did not reoccur. A seven-member Oversight Panel, to be composed of no more than three purebloods and the rest of 'lesser' heritage, was established with the mandate of conducting both annual and random audits and inspections of the entire Ministry, with these results of said inspections to be presented to the Prime Minister and the Queen regularly, or as needed.

The first duty of this Panel, however, was to review every Wizengamot conviction for the past twenty-five years. This review was to begin with the names listed in Severus Snape's testimony, then to proceed from there. Priority was to be given to those persons whose Azkaban sentences had been close to completion before they were remanded into the PACC program.

The investigators found no evidence that Veritiserum had been compromised by any mythical 'antiveritiserum', but did express concern that a skilled Occulumens might be able to at least partially negate the serum's effects. It was recommended that a skilled Legilimens evaluate any witness to whom Veritiserum was to be given for the presence of Occulumency shields. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was tasked with hiring or training a cadre of Legilimens, who would swear on their magic not to abuse their talents or findings, on pain of loss of that magic. The intent of the investigators was to create a group of legal consultants whose reputations would be unimpeachable, and thus restore the public's trust in the wizarding justice system.

The Wizengamot was stripped of all judicial power and reduced solely to a legislative and deliberative body. An independent court system, fully integrated with Her Majesty's Wizarding Bench, was to be created, with Her Majesty's High Wizarding Court being the highest Court in wizarding Britain. Judges in the wizarding Courts would naturally be expected to confirm to the high ethical standards of the muggle bench, with similar penalties for malfeasance or other breaches of conduct.

The expected howls from the Wizengamot were largely ignored, and that august body was rather forcibly reminded that, under their ancient Charter, the entire body served at the pleasure of the Crown.

None of the howlers quite dared to risk Her Majesty's pleasure in reappointing them to a new Wizengamot, which left them quietly grumbling their discontent. Most of them counted themselves lucky to have gotten off as lightly as they had…and they were right.

The PACC program was abolished, and key members of the PACC staff were summarily sacked. The investigators found evidence of massive corruption throughout the entire program, with only a handful of staffers being deemed honest or competent. John Dawlish, in particular, found himself facing a lengthy stay in Azkaban when it came to light that he had accepted a number of bribes to 'influence' the selection process for the program. He was found hanged in his cell, and his death was ruled a suicide by the forensic Auror who examined the body and scene.

The Department of Mysteries required less than an hour to produce the unlocking charm for the slave collars. Apparently someone in the Department had the foresight to develop one, just in case. It was a fiendishly difficult charm to cast, but the Department had several Unspeakables who were capable of casting it. As part of a consent arrangement with the Government, it was decided that the Department would remove the collars as soon as feasible, once the Oversight Panel had evaluated the individual's record. Even those PACC slaves who were remanded back into custody pending new trials were to have their collars removed within 72 hours of the Panel's final decision.

The Prince of Wales, speaking for Her Majesty, addressed a joint session of senior Ministry officials and the Wizengamot to present the Government's plan of action. He took no questions, and there was no debate. He did, however, remind his audience that the Crown had for many years allowed its wizarding subjects significant latitude in managing their own affairs, and was quite disappointed at what had resulted from that freedom. He, and Her Majesty, both hoped that the time would come again when such latitude would be appropriate, but until then the law would be followed, and the Crown's subjects would all be treated fairly.

Lord Potter did not speak at this meeting, nor was he mentioned at any time. He was, however, seen entering and leaving with the Crown Prince, the two of them laughing and chatting like old friends. A picture of them, both in their ceremonial robes, graced the _Prophet's_ front page the next day.

* * *

Several days later, a group of friends gathered at Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

Harry, Fred, George, Lucius, Neville, Oliver, Draco, Marcus and Auggie Pye were having drinks and waiting for one last guest to arrive. All of Harry's guests, slaves included, were wearing robes suitable for an evening on the town. Harry had caved in to Dobby's request for the elves to wear their uniforms, but he had drawn the line at the bearskins. Still and all, it was quite the colorful evening.

The floo activated a few minutes after 6:00, and Severus Snape stepped through. His black robes did not go at all well with the clothes of the elves that greeted him, but only Severus seemed to notice how out of place his attire was.

"Hello, Snape," Harry welcomed the man into his home.

"Potter," the Potions Master replied. It was obvious to everyone in the room that there was no love lost between the two men.

After a brief round of greetings, Harry took charge. "Snape, let's be frank. You and I will never be friends, not in this lifetime. Still, there are reasons for us to at least declare an armistice between us. Agreed?"

Snape inclined his head in what might have been a nod. "Agreed," he said.

Harry waited for him to say something else, then shrugged when he saw that Snape was obviously not in a talking mood.

"Marcus, would you come here, please?" Harry asked, extending his hand to his slave.

Smiling, Marcus Flint moved to stand beside his Master. Harry returned his smile, and asked softly, "Are you ready for this?" At Marcus' nod, Harry turned to Auggie, who passed Flint a small vial.

"Calming draught," he explained to the room at large. "Since we don't know just what the effects of releasing the collar will be, I think it's best to err on the side of caution," he said.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Snape barked. "Calming draughts can interfere with a number of healing potions, and if something goes wrong…."

"Then I've got my bag with me, and St. Mungo's is only a floo away," Auggie interrupted calmly, nodding to where an innocuous doctor's bag sat near to hand. Snape nodded, reassured. Auggie Pye's 'little black bag' had become something of a legend during the war. Built with the same magics as Mad-Eye Moody's trunk, Auggie could pull out a complete trauma suite's worth of supplies from its depths. Harry had supplied the money, Auggie, the expertise, and Snape himself most of the potions that went into the original. Now, 'the bag' was standard equipment for every St. Mungo's emergency response team, but Auggie's had been the first…and was probably still the best.

Auggie cut his eyes towards his bag and grinned at the Potions Master. "You're welcome to see if it still meets your approval, Severus. Just don't fall in…we'd have to send a house elf in to fetch you back."

A round of laughter swept the room, and even Severus' mouth twitched at the corners. When the group became serious once more, Harry nodded to Neville, who picked up a sheet of parchment and began to read.

"Marcus Flint, the Oversight Panel for the Ministry of Magic of Her Britannic Majesty's Government having found you innocent of the charge of being a Death Eater by means of extenuating circumstances; and said Panel having also found you deserving of clemency for acts committed while a Death Eater by means of services rendered to the Light, and thus the Crown; the Panel does hereby recommend that you be restored to your previous station as a Free Man, with all of the usual rights, privileges and duties as are generally accorded to all Subjects of Her Majesty."

Neville looked up, his face serious. "As witness to the removal of your collar of servitude and subsequent restoration of rights, I offer myself, Lord Sir Neville Longbottom, Viscount Longbottom, KBS, OM. Lord Potter, if you will do the honors?"

Harry glanced at Auggie Pye, who nodded his readiness, then took out his wand. Reaching out, he touched the collar with his wand and muttered, "_Finite occulto incantatem, non reus, manumittere et emancippia_."*

There was a sharp 'crack', and then the two halves of the collar fell to the floor. Marcus staggered, only to be caught by Harry on one side and Auggie on the other, who helped the young man to sit on the waiting couch.

"Well, how do you feel?" Auggie demanded, checking his neck for any marks and finding none.

"A bit light-headed," Marcus answered. "Otherwise…I can't say. Not bad, exactly, just…odd."

"Drink this," Auggie held out a glass of water, which Flint took gratefully. He drank while the healer made a quick double pass with his wand before putting it away.

"He's fine," he announced. "Just give him a minute or so to adjust to having that damned thing off, and not messing with his head every second." Pye stepped back; noticing that Harry and the rest of the group had already done the same. All, that is, except for Severus Snape, who looked like he was about to shake himself to pieces from where he stood across the room. "Well, Snape, what are you waiting for? Get your carcass over here so you can see for yourself," Auggie ordered, grinning.

Severus might as well have apparated across the room, so quickly was he kneeling before the younger man.

"Marcus, are you…do you…?" he asked, uncertain.

Marcus smiled down at his lover. "I'm fine, Sev," he said quietly. "Just a bit dizzy, that's all. Sit beside me?" he asked, pulling Snape up to the couch with him.

"Merlin!" Snape breathed, then looked up. "Potter, Longbottom, all of you…I…I don't know how I'll ever repay you," he began, then shook his head.

"Help him forget what an ass I was to him, because I hated you," Harry said firmly. "Auggie wants to see him once a week for the next month or so, and he may need a mind healer down the road. I've already made arrangements to pay for anything like that, so you can thank me by seeing that he gets everything he'll need in the days to come."

"As for me, no thanks are needed," Neville said. "However, since there's a chance that we may be working together in the near future," he nodded towards the twins, who were grinning like loons, "I'd appreciate it if we could try to be civil to each other."

"Agreed," Snape said easily. "So long as you agree to never go near a cauldron while I'm in the same room."

"Done and done!" Neville laughed. Then, he turned to the room. "All right, you lot! One down, two to go! Who's next?"

* * *

Some time thereafter, Auggie Pye caught Harry's elbow and pulled him into a corner. The group had already split up, with Wood and Flint arguing Quidditch by the fireplace, Draco and his father quietly talking together on the couch, and Snape, Longbottom and the Twins all plotting together by the door. Their dinner reservations were at nine, but Auggie had wanted at least a couple of hours of 'collar free' time to observe the former slaves before he was comfortable with them all going out for a celebration. So far, everything looked to be going well, so he took the opportunity to speak with a brooding Harry.

"Alright, Potter, out with it! Just what's bothering you now?" Auggie demanded.

Harry had the good grace to blush at being caught out. "Is it that obvious?" he asked. When Auggie didn't do anything except roll his eyes, Harry sighed and gave in to the inevitable.

"I guess I'm wondering if we did the right thing, this time," he began. "I mean, we've put some pretty radical changes in place, and I'm not sure that we should have gone this far. Then again, I can't help but wonder if we shouldn't have done this right after the war—Merlin knows it would have saved us all of this grief," he finished.

Pye thought back to the days right after Voldemort's defeat. Harry had come out of the final battle the next best thing to dead, his body shattered and his magical core sizzling with the power he had drained from the Dark Lord. One or the other, the healer could have managed easily enough, but both together had almost done Harry in. On top of that, the exorcism spell—by necessity, cast after Harry had drained Voldemort's magic—had very nearly ripped Harry's soul out of his body along with the shard of Voldemort's that had 'anchored' the draining spell. The healer had vigorously protested 'the plan' from the first moment he heard it, but apparently there were reasons it had to be done that way. Granger had babbled on about direct soul conduits or some such, making it impossible for Tom to stop the draining spell, then using Tom's own power to cast out the soul fragment. All Auggie knew was that it was more likely than not to get his patient (and friend) messily dead…and he had been perilously close to right about that!

Auggie had kept vigil over Harry for three days, running on Pepper-Up and too-strong tea, keeping the comatose Gryffindor alive and more-or-less stable while his broken body healed. When he finally awakened, Harry had been too weak to do more than whisper, and it had been several days before he was able to get out of bed. It had actually been his friends and inner circle, along with the Order, that had done most of the post-war housecleaning of the Ministry. By the time Harry was in any condition to participate, it was, by and large, already done.

"Harry, I don't think that either of us could have changed what happened in those first few days at all—you, because you were just a little bit comatose and me, because I was afraid to leave you alone for more than five minutes." Auggie grinned. "Thank Merlin for enchanted chamber pots!" he said, which brought a grin to Harry's face. "Seriously, you weren't in any shape to do anything until Hermione, Ron, Neville and the Order had pretty much finished with everything that they were going to do, and I think you made the right decision to let their decisions stand. Oh, I know," he said, raising a hand to forestall Harry's objection, "you could have done more, or changed what they had done, but think back. Our whole society was still in shock, and to do much more might very well have been more than they could stand at the time."

"But what about now?" Harry asked plaintively. "We've radically changed the way the Wizengamot operates, and basically put the Muggle government in an oversight position on the Ministry."

"I'm not terribly worried about either one of those things," Auggie shrugged. "The Wizengamot's needed a colonic for decades, and the Muggle PM is managing the oversight directly for the Queen. And, the PM is using mostly muggleborns to do it, which will certainly keep the purebloods' fingers out of the biscuit tin."

"I don't imagine anyone in the Ministry or Wizengamot was very happy to find out that the muggles have been using ex-pat muggleborns for years, right under the Ministry's nose. Until recently, I don't think most of our purebloods had any idea that MI-5 and MI-6 even existed."

"Probably not, Harry. Not to mention the cadre of wizards tucked away in the Queen's personal security force."

"Mmm," was Harry's only response.

Auggie let Harry stew for a bit, then said gently, "Harry, we can stand around and play the 'coulda, woulda, shoulda' game all night long, and it won't change anything. For better or worse, it's done, and now all we can do is go forward. Oh, we can certainly keep a closer eye on things than we've been doing, all of us. For one thing, Neville and Justin Finch-Fletchley are going to make sure that the Oversight Panel does its job, and then some. I think they're even talking about putting in some kind of halfway reasonable hiring standards at the Ministry, to give muggleborns and halfbloods a decent shot at getting jobs there. As that kind of thing takes hold, we'll retain more and more new blood, rather than then coming to Hogwarts and then going right back to live as muggles. In the long run, that can only help our world to grow."

"I guess," Harry said. "Still, I'm not sure that the average John Wizard or Jane Witch is ready for this much change."

"Harry, it's been five years since the war. If they're not ready now, then when will they?"

"I guess you're right," Harry sighed.

"Of course I'm right," Auggie huffed, which made Harry smile. "Now, buck up, old man! It's nearly nine, our newly-freed boys are doing just fine, and you have a date with a certain blonde this evening," he grinned. "And, if you play your cards right, I suspect that there's a decent chance that you might 'get lucky' tonight."

The thought of being with Draco—a _free_ Draco—once again made Harry's face light up like a _Lumos_. "Yeah," he said, turning to look at his once and future lover. "I just might."

**A/N:** *roughly, 'End the hidden incantation, unbind, set free and release from slavery'.

Yes, I had to mention Ron, but you'll note that he's mentioned once, and then (thankfully) never again. As for Hermione, I can easily see her becoming just as pompous and officious as Umbridge ever was, given a taste of real power. Yes, she turned into exactly what she once despised, as so often happens. I felt that it was a logical progression from her character in canon (remember how she narc'd out Harry about his Firebolt? 'nuff said!) to the faux-pureblood martinet I've portrayed her as. She was seduced by 'the smell of marble' in the halls of power, with the results as you see here. Plus, she's just a bitch, as many of you have pointed out.

As for the other characters, Marcus Flint is rarely seen in fanfics, which made him perfect for this story. Ditto Lucius and Oliver as a pairing. Neville has always impressed me as having untapped depths, which I like bringing out. Auggie Pye is my own creation, as is his 'little black bag'. Now, as to what happened when Harry and Draco had their 'alone time' behind Harry's (read: impenetrable) privacy wards in the Twin's shop...I assure you that a deck of cards was NOT involved. The two of them had been apart for YEARS, and...well, use your imaginations.

So...how did I do? Everything wrapped up to everyone's satisfaction? Well, there's still a tiny bit left to come.

**Next:** only the Epilogue….


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** And just because every story needs a dash of Epilogue, here it is…two ex-slaves talking about life in general, more Hermione!bashing, and more Harem Boy!Draco (with just a dash of Pirate!Harry). Arrrrrr….

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Harry, or Draco, or even Dr. Doolittle, much less property in Puddleby-By-The-Sea. I wish I did, though….

**BY MAGIC BOUND**

_or_

_**Love Slaves of Diagon Alley**_

**EPILOGUE**

Oliver Wood stepped easily from the floo at Potter & Malfoy Investments, Ltd., the automatic cleaning charm—a gift from Herr Zintiffens—tingling against his skin as is brushed away the soot from his exit. Nodding a hello to the secretary, he stepped quickly across the room and stuck his head in the open door of Draco Malfoy's office.

"Hullo, Drake,", he called, rapping on the doorframe with his knuckles. "The Gruesome Twosome back yet?"

Draco looked up from the thick book he was copying out of and grinned at his friend's description of the firm's founding partners. "Not yet, Ollie. They're still stuck in that meeting in Paris, and I really don't expect them back until close to nightfall. Just come from practice?"

Oliver shook his head, his still-damp hair letting his shake a few drops around Draco's office. Ignoring Draco's protesting 'Oi!', he grinned—completely and totally unrepentant—and plopped down onto the comfortable couch that faced Draco's desk. "Yeppers. It's raining krups and kneezles in Puddleby-By-The-Sea, so Coach called practice early. I grabbed a quick shower, and here I am!" he said, spreading his arms for emphasis.

"So I see," Draco said dryly. "Say, Wood, answer me this: why is the team Puddlemere United, when the team offices and practice pitch are in Puddleby-whatever?"

Oliver smiled at his friend. It was a question that he'd fielded dozens of times. "Are you wanting the 'official' answer, or the scandalous rumor that's probably the real reason?"

"Both, of course," Draco grinned, leaning forward, his eyes twinkling. A casual wave of his hand shut the door, just in case the scandalous rumor was really that good.

"The 'official' version is that since both villages have supported the Team since it was founded, one village got the stadium and the other the training facilities and offices. Practically, the stadium is built in the center of a dense little copse just outside Puddlemere, which makes it easy to hide from the muggles. Not very many people go into those woods, which makes charming the trails and the area around the stadium with Confundus, Misdirection and Notice-Me-Not charms something that a fourth-year could do. The stadium is actually one of the oldest in the country, and the charms are so well-established by now that the woods has a bit of a reputation and no one much bothers going there. Of course, it helps that the whole woods isn't much bigger than three or four stadiums, so anyone getting 'lost' there doesn't come out too terribly far from where they might want to be, anyway."

Draco nodded. It had long been 'the way things are done' to make misdirecting the muggles as easy on all concerned as possible. Practically, as long as something didn't bother them terribly, most muggles were quite forgiving about little things like trails that didn't go where they ought to, and such. Of course, that fool Voldemort had turned _that_ on its head, like so many other things. Once again, Draco realized just how glad he was that the Dark Lord hadn't succeeded in his plans for domination and immortality.

Oliver was still explaining. "So, it just makes sense to keep the stadium where it is, in Puddlemere. Practically speaking, it's a twenty-minute walk between the two, or two minutes on a slow broom. But, Puddleby-By-The-Sea is the bigger village, and has the harbor and a small train station. So, naturally, the residents think they're more important."

"I see," Draco said, imagining just that. Both villages together wouldn't make a good neighborhood in London, but such rivalries had always gone on, and always would.

"At any rate, Puddleby has two pubs as opposed to just the one, and it has the fish market. Other than that, I can't see two shakes difference between the two," Wood said. "Both are highly mixed magical/muggle populations, so much so that the Statute of Secrecy is pretty much ignored all 'round. There's been so much intermarriage over the years that almost everyone is related to a wizard or a squib in some way, and they're so closed-mouth to outsiders that it's not a problem. Plus, having the team located there is a tremendous boost to the local economy, and no one's going to threaten that. Both are actually nice places to live," he finished, smiling.

"I heard a story about a Ministry Oblivator who responded to a report of a wizard talking to animals, and was found Oblivated himself, wandering around outside of the Ministry's London entrance."

"Actually, that's probably a true story," Oliver laughed. "The town doctor was actually a squib who developed a 'sport' talent for animal languages, and quit medicine to become a rather famous veterinarian. Well, the Puddlebians didn't take well to a strange man from London going around wiping people's memories, so he was just dealt with. I suppose the Ministry took the hint, because it only happened the one time."

"You didn't just call them 'Puddlebians,'" Draco snickered.

"Actually, yeah," Oliver grimaced, and then snickered himself. "That's what they call themselves," he went on, holding up his hands in a 'what can I do?' gesture.

Shaking his head, Draco gestured for him to continue. "Okay, I get keeping the stadium in Puddlemere, and that both villages are idyllic, mixed hamlets where wizards, squibs and muggles live together in peace and harmony and all that rot…but I still haven't heard why the team offices and practice pitch are in Puddleby-By-Whatever."

Now it was time for Oliver's eyes to take on a twinkle on their own. "Well, both towns have several inns, mostly to deal with the Quidditch trade, right? It turns out that, right about the time the team was founded, that Puddleby-By-The-Sea had the only inn with an 'extra' floor…and 'extra' bar wenches to 'work' it," he said, using his fingers to make quote marks in the air as he spoke.

Draco's eyes widened and his mouth dropped into an 'O' as he caught on to what Oliver was saying. "You mean to tell me…the team headquarters for one of England's premier Quidditch teams was built in the village with the bawdy house?"

"Pretty much," Oliver answered dryly. "Right down the street, as a matter of fact."

Draco leaned back, his hand over his mouth. "Oh my…oh sweet Circe…" he sputtered, then dissolved into giggles.

"That's not all," Oliver said, grinning. "That particular inn has been run by the same family since that time, passed down from mother to daughter. Plus, each of them has been a powerful witch, and the head of the local coven, which is just as old."

"Merciful Merlin! But…what about any sons?" Draco couldn't help but ask. After all, for centuries property had been passed through the paternal line in England, not the maternal.

"Not an issue, apparently. Something about an ancient curse on the first owner, only to bear daughters and never sons." The Quidditch player shrugged. "It's never seemed to matter, as far as I know. Oh, there's always a man or three around the inn, tending bar, minding the stables and whatnot…but there's only one Lady of the House."

"I suppose not," Draco said seriously. A line of witches like that, with an old coven behind them…Merlin only knew just what forgotten magics they played with on a regular basis. No wonder the Ministry left well enough alone, in Puddleby-By-The-Sea. "Remind me to never visit you there without my incredibly powerful boyfriend to protect me, will you?"

Oliver snorted. "As if you two would ever go anywhere without the other! I swear, you too ought to be stuck together at the hip!"

"You're one to talk," Draco smirked.

"Don't change the subject," Oliver went on, smiling. "And just when are you and Harry going to start working on heirs? Both Potter and Malfoy families need at least a couple."

"I'm not the only one that might be the broodmare for the Malfoy heir," Draco fired right back. "Of course you'll look a bit odd, sitting a broom when you're seven or eight months along, now won't you? I wonder how much trouble Father's tailor will have making a set of maternity Quidditch robes?"

"Git, that's not going to happen any time soon! I'm just starting to get my career back." Oliver protested. "Besides, I happen to know that a certain green-eyed Gryffindor has always wanted a huge brood of his own to spoil rotten."

Draco nodded, not even bothering to try to hide his smile. "We've talked about it," he admitted. "Still, we want to wait a bit longer, let things settle down some more before we take that step."

Oliver nodded, deciding not to push things by asking just who would be the 'mother' for the first one. It was something he knew that Harry and Draco were arguing over, since each of them wanted to carry their first child. Oh, well…they'd work it out, Wood figured.

"So, how's Quidditch training going?" Draco asked, changing the subject.

"Great, actually," Oliver answered, willingly going along with the change. "I'm still blowing off the rust, as you'd expect, but I think I've got a good shot at reserve Keeper for this season, which is probably going to be Simpson's last."

"Angling for the first spot next season, then?"

"Yeah. If I can't get back to where I can do the job in a year, then I need to rethink just what I'm doing there," Wood admitted.

"I doubt that you have anything to worry about," Draco smiled at his friend. "After all, we both happen to be sleeping with two of the team's owners."

"I know, and I'm afraid that everyone will think I've gotten the spot because of that, and not because I'm good enough," Oliver spat. It was an active sore spot with him.

"I'm not worried about that in the least," Draco said calmly. "The only people who will say that are idiots who don't know you. Oh, I'm sure that Father and Harry would 'put the fix in' if you asked. But, I also know that you'd die the Death of a Thousand Cuts before you'd ever ask; and if they actually did anything like that, you'd rip both of them a new one. So, no worries," he said, waving away any concerns.

"I guess," Oliver said, slumping back. "So, how's Flint doing?" It was something of a loaded question. About a week after his collar had been removed Marcus had verbally unloaded on Harry for almost an hour, while Harry just sat there and took it. When Flint had finally exhausted himself, Harry had only apologized once more and called Auggie Pye to see to the former slave. Flint's sessions with the mind healer had started the next day, and quickly progressed to include Severus Snape in their sessions. It had been hard on everyone, especially when Harry was 'invited' to a series of meetings, but finally Snape and Potter had managed to admit that their mutual loathing had played itself out on Flint, who was the innocent of the piece.

It had, by all reports, been thoroughly unpleasant when Snape finally admitted that he had been doing to Potter for years exactly what he despised Potter for doing to Flint during his enslavement. After that, things went much more smoothly, for everyone.

"He's doing well, actually. He and Harry seem to be well on their way to becoming friends, now that the air's been cleared between them. He's enjoying working with Snape, and is the go-between Harry and Snape whenever one is needed."

"Those two..." Oliver sighed, shaking his head.

"Harry Potter and Severus Snape will never be friends, not in a thousand years," Draco agreed. "Still, they are being civil to each other, which is more than I'd ever hoped for. It's helping that Harry and Father are working so closely with Snape's new business, I think."

Oliver nodded, wholeheartedly agreeing. The partnership between Snape, Neville Longbottom and the Weasley Twins that had first been discussed 'that' night at Number 12 Grimmauld Place had resulted in the formation of Potion Specialists, Limited—a company that now was biting off large chunks of the pre-made and 'do it yourself' potion kit markets in England, and was moving rapidly into the Continental markets. They had pioneered the use of 'pre-potions' in easy to use kit form, where several steps were carried out (under the most stringent of quality controls, naturally) in their factory and the products magically sealed and frozen in stasis. When a potion was needed, all a consumer had to do was open the kit and follow simple directions: 'empty blue vial into clean cauldron, add red vial, stir six times deosil, add yellow vial, stir thrice widdershins, drink'.

There were even pictures, with arrows, in the instructions, to make things even simpler.

They had already far outstripped any products that Brewster's offered (although, they did have competing versions at comparable prices and higher quality) and were in negotiations with St. Mungo's for a regular supply contract. It didn't hurt that the label proudly advertised 'Herbs by Longbottom Nurseries', which of course, was something that Brewster's would never be able to say.

"Are you still half-timing with Snape?" Oliver asked. With him spending so much time across the country re-training at Quidditch, he had fallen out of the loop about the comings and goings in London.

"Most weeks, yes," Draco preened. "We're still actively working to expand the line, and I like being able to keep my hand in. The rest of the time, I'm here, working the business end of the operation. It frees up Harry and Father to do other things," he said proudly.

"Like go and do dog-and-pony shows like today," Oliver said, and the two grinned at each other. Both of them knew that was exactly what was happening, as both Lucius and Harry had complained about it, rather loudly. No matter how much work was done beforehand, there were still clients that insisted on meeting with the principals in person to sign the paperwork. "If I didn't know better, Lucius actually misses not having me there to disrupt his meetings at the hour mark," Wood smirked.

"That's because he does miss you, for that very reason," Draco laughed. "I think that if he could get away with it without causing a scandal, he'd put you right back into harness and lead your almost-naked bum around the Alleys all day long."

"That's 'cause your father has a nasty pervy streak in him a mile wide, and he likes having people envy him for who he is," Ollie smiled.

Draco snorted. "Do tell?" he said, his voice rich with sarcasm. "I never would have noticed it, had you not mentioned it just now."

Oliver laughed outright. "Oh, of course not! Not you, Draco!"

"Certainly not," Draco answered primly. Then, he smirked, as something occurred to him. "Have you heard the latest about Granger?" he asked.

"No, I haven't. I don't get much time to read the papers, and Lucius doesn't like to talk about what's going on in the Ministry," Oliver answered.

"Well, two days ago she was in here demanding that Harry do something about a situation she's having with some of the magicals in the muggle government."

"Oh, I'm sure that went over well," Oliver laughed. "What did she want Harry to do?"

"Well, I'm not sure I understand all of it, but apparently the muggle government has been very slow in approving her request for something called 'computers' that have been adjusted—I think they call it 'hardened', whatever that means—so that they work around magic." Draco paused, thinking. "I think it's like the cell phones that we carry—normal muggle ones go bad if they're exposed to magic, but there are ways to fix them so that it won't happen." Oliver nodded, letting Draco know he understood. The knowledge that muggle devices could be made to work with magic was slowly seeping through the wizarding world, despite staunch opposition from certain quarters. "The magicals in government have been using computers for years, but getting them for the Ministry requires Granger to have a 'security clearance'. And, for some reason," Draco's eyes twinkled as he spoke, "her clearance keeps being delayed…and delayed…and delayed."

"Let me guess: no matter how much she rants and raves, it just keeps getting delayed more?" Oliver laughed outright.

"Pretty much," Draco acknowledged. "One of these centuries, she'll learn that nagging and screaming at people isn't the best way to make them go out of their way to help you."

"I doubt it," Oliver snickered.

Draco just grinned, then went on. "At any rate, she wanted Harry to call the PM directly, or better yet, the Queen, and have it 'taken care of it immediately'. After all, she needs those 'computers' for her 'important work'." The roll of his eyes let Oliver know just exactly what Draco thought about Dame Granger's 'important work'.

"So, let me guess…Harry immediately dropped everything to pop over to Buckingham Palace and take care of Granger's little problem?"

"Oh, exactly," Draco said, then both of the dissolved into laughter.

"All right, now tell me what Harry really said," Oliver said, when he could speak coherently again.

"Harry just said that he had no control over their security verification process, and that Granger would just have to go through the regular channels…but, he thought that screaming at the people responsible for moving the process along probably wasn't the best approach to take." Draco smiled, remembering. Harry had been as cool as a cucumber, which had naturally only made Granger more agitated.

"She must have loved that," Oliver snickered.

"Fortunately, a simple _Reparo_ fixed the window in Harry's door after she left," Draco smiled. Then, he leaned forward conspiratorially, meeting Oliver's eyes as he went on. "Harry had to find out what was happening, after all that, so he spoke with Finch-Fletchley about it. Justin had already had the joy of dealing with Granger when she complained to the Oversight Committee about her 'treatment' at the hands of the Government. Sadly, the Oversight Committee 'declined to become involve' in what was 'clearly an administrative issue'. Draco grinned savagely, then went on.

"Justin told Harry that the charms to make computers work around magic aren't hard to do, probably around OWL-level difficulty. He's done it himself on the computers in his office, and his home. There's even a pamphlet that you can get, with diagrams and wand movements and everything all drawn out for you."

Wood's eyes widened as he began to understand just what Draco was saying. "You mean…" he asked?

Draco nodded happily. "Oh, yes. If Granger hadn't been such a galloping hag to all and sundry, the magicals in government would have given her a stack of pamphlets, then she and her staff could have popped into any electronics shop, picked out what they wanted, and been off to the broom races within a day or so."

"Oh, Sweet Morgana!" Oliver breathed out, then began giggling uncontrollably.

"Wait, it gets better," Draco went on, between his own giggles. "Justin told Harry that he's seeing a girl in the office that handles muggle-magical interactions, and she told him that the Powers That Be have already decided just what the next delay for Dame Granger's request is going to be. It seems that, since none of the Ministry is 'wired' for the electricity the things run on, it will take them at least another three weeks to get that sorted out!"

By this point, Oliver was about to fall off of the couch. "Oh, that's just evil!" he gasped.

"Isn't it? Especially since there's a magical 'power cell' that can be used, in places where there's no electricity. Unfortunately, someone's also conveniently going to forget to mention that to Granger…since she is, after all, the smartest witch of all time, or something." Draco finished, and then gave himself over to his own mirth.

The two sat there, laughing with one another companionably for a bit, then Wood stretched out on Draco's couch. "Well, as amusing and interesting as your company is, Drake, I'm knackered. I'll just take a bit of a kip right here, and you can wake me when the grown-ups get back from Paris."

"And I suppose that I'm just to sit here and continue working quietly while you nap on my couch in my office?" Draco asked dryly.

"Something like that," Wood replied, then closed his eyes.

"Huh," was Draco's only response, as he (quietly) went back to the potions research he had been doing.

* * *

Oliver woke to a hand shaking his shoulder. "Wake up, lazybones," Lucius Malfoy's voice drifted down to him.

"Mmmph, 'lo, Lucius," he yawned. "How was Paris?" he mumbled, sitting up.

"It was Paris, and the meetings were horribly long and tedious," Lucius smiled, sitting down beside his lover.

"Still and all, it's done now," Harry said from where he perched on the corner of Draco's desk.

"Did you two get everything hammered out to your satisfaction?" Draco wanted to know.

"Most of it," Harry shrugged. "The rest, I'm going to let Perkins handle, since I'm getting rather sick of M. Bouvier's condescending attitude towards all things not-French."

"Agreed," Lucius said. "I think that he forgets that he is not the only importer in France. Perhaps it's time that we began looking elsewhere for our needs," he grimaced.

"I'd rather not, given how much time we've already put into the agreements with him, but I think you're right," Harry nodded tiredly. "Still and all, it won't hurt any to begin looking, and that's just one more bit of leverage we can give Perkins when he goes to finish things."

"I'll write a few letters tomorrow," Lucius promised, "but not right now. Right now," he grinned, pulling Oliver close to him, "I think I'm going to take this one home and have a quiet evening…and not think about business at all!"

"Be that way," Harry smirked. "I suppose that I could do the same, you know. Drag this one," he jerked his head at Draco, "home, and make him wear the harem boy costume while he feeds me grapes, or something."

"Or something," Wood laughed.

"I suppose that I don't have any say in the matter?" Draco asked coldly.

"Of course you do," Harry said warmly, smiling at his lover. "You get to pick which color harem boy outfit you wear. And, of course, I'll have to wear my leather pants and that blousy silk shirt you like, and be 'Pirate Harry'." He squinted one eye and growled, "Arrrrrrr".

"Well, okay, then," Draco grinned.

"And I've already heard more than I care to," Lucius said, rising smoothly and pulling Oliver after him. "I will see you both tomorrow, and if something comes up this evening that you need me for…" he paused.

"Yes?" Harry asked.

"Deal with it yourself!" Lucius said, sweeping out of the room, a laughing Quidditch player right behind him.

_**And They All Lived Happily (and Kinkily) Ever After…**_

_**except for Hermione, who's just a bitch!**_


End file.
